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ALMOST A CROWD, FOR RUSSELLVILLE, STOOD IN FRONT 


OF THE DRUG STORE.” 



The Young Reporter 


A Story of Printing House Square. 

$y- 

/ 

bv 

/ 

WILLIAM DRYSDALE, 

Author of “ Abel Foref tiger “ In Sunny Lands,” “ Proverbs from Plymouth 

Pulpit,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

CHARLES COPELAND. 



Id,* 


c o WfSHr 

AUG 16 189b 


^or WASV'V^ 




(4<A 


BOSTON: 

W. A. WILDE & COMPANY, 
25 Bromfield Street, 



Copyright, 1895, 

By W. A. Wilde & Company. 
All rights reserved. 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Night in the Transport Office 7 

II. The Printer Boy Becomes a Reporter 24 

III. The Stolen Locomotive 40 

IV. A Wild Night on New York Bay 64 

V. “Shadowing” the Chief of Police . . 83 

VI. How Dick Spurned a Bribe 102 

VII. Dick Lands in Mexico with a Family 119 

VIII. A Voyage to Porto Rico 139 

IX. A Stranded Ship and a Board of Survey 158 

X. Dick Meets a Fighting Preacher 181 

XI. The “ Hoodooed ” Steamboat 201 

XII. A Narrow Escape in Arkansas 221 

XIII. Dick Begins to Write a Novel 240 

XIV. A Night Ride on a Fire Engine 260 

XV. “The Through Sleeper” 280 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

“Almost a crowd, for Russellville, stood in front of the 

drugstore” .... Frontispiece ..... 12 

“You’re just in time, Randall ” 59 

“What ’s the matter, old fellow?” 128 

“ He snatched an iron belaying-pin from its socket and 

sprang forward ” 179 

“ On they flew, faster and faster, every moment ” . . . . 266 




THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


CHAPTER I. 

A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. 

r l^HE big clock in The Russellville Record office 
said half-past three, and Dick Sumner stood 
in front of his case distributing type. 

“ It’s a dark day,” he said to himself, glancing at 
the window, “ and I ’m afraid I feel rather dark 
myself. But that won’t do ; ” and he straightened 
himself up and began to drop the types faster 
than ever. 

Dick was the “ last boy ” in the Record office 
and had all of a last boy’s privileges : the privilege 
of sweeping the office, making the fires, washing 
the rollers, doing all the dirty work. 

“ It ’s a long day, too,” he said as he took up the 
next handful of type. “ I wish that clock would 
move a little faster.” 

Not that he was in a hurry to get away from his 
work. That would not have been like Dick at all, 
for his heart was in the business, and there was 
nothing too hard or too inky for him to undertake. 


8 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


It was because he thought his fate was to be de- 
cided that evening that he was anxious for even- 
ing to come. And so it was, but very differently 
from the way he expected. He considered it an 
eventful day in his life, but he had no idea how 
very eventful it was to be. 

The trouble was that the three dollars a week he 
was earning in the Record office was not enough 
for him to make. It did very well when he went 
into the office, about a year before, when his father 
was alive and his money was not needed at home ; 
but since then his father had died and left hardly 
anything for the support of the family. Dick felt 
that it was his place to take care of his mother and 
his sister Florrie; but he could not do it on three 
dollars a week. By giving up his place and going 
to work in the saw-mill he could earn about a dollar 
and a half a day, for he was large and strong for a 
boy of eighteen ; but if he did that he could hardly 
hope for advancement, and it would put an end to 
his learning the trade he liked better than any 
other. 

That was the problem in the Sumner family, and 
as he dropped the letters into their boxes, Dick could 
not help thinking about it. Inclination said : “ Stick 
to your trade ; ” and Duty said — well, there was a 
difficulty, for he was not sure what Duty said. On 
the one hand he was learning the trade of his 
choice, and after a while his wages would increase ; 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. 


9 


but on the other hand the dollar and a half a day 
was greatly needed at home. 

If his mother had advised him one way or the 
other, Dick would have followed her advice on the 
instant ; but she was as undecided about it as Dick 
was. They had had many serious talks about it, 
Mrs. Sumner and Dick and Florrie, without making 
up their minds ; but the time had come when Mrs. 
Sumner must begin to make a little money by sew- 
ing, or else Dick must leave the Record office and 
go to the saw-mill. 

“ Think it over this afternoon, Dick,” she said 
when he went away after dinner, “ and to-night we 
will decide it one way or the other.” 

There was not the least doubt in Dick’s mind, as 
he kept the types click, click, clicking into their 
boxes, that he was to be either a printer or a saw- 
mill hand. There were just two fates before him, 
he thought, and that night was to decide between 
them. But he was mistaken. 

No wonder the clock moved slowly. He was 
about to take up another handful of type, when 
there came a summons that he was accustomed to 
hearing so often that it always made him smile : — 

“ Here, Dick ! ” 

The call came from the editor’s room in the front. 
The Record office is a small place, with only two 
rooms. In the front room the editor sits with his 
pen and shears and his pile of exchanges ; and in 


IO THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

the back room the three printers work. The door 
between them always stands open. 

“ Yes, sir ! ” Dick answered ; and he put down 
his type and hurriedly dried his hands on a discarded 
proof. 

“ I think I ’ll let you do that governor business 
to-night, Dick,” the editor said. “It’s not every 
day we have a governor in town, and people will 
want to read something about him. You might 
have a little talk with him ; get him to say some- 
thing nice about Russellville. You ’ll have all the 
week to write your story, and I think you can do 
it justice.” 

“Very well, sir; I ’ll do the best I can with it,” 
Dick answered, and went back to his type. 

“ That governor business ! ” It was a vague 
order, but Dick understood it, and it brought a flush 
to his temples. It meant that that night he was to 
be a reporter for the paper, instead of only a drudge 
in the office. He was proud of the commission, 
and yet a little afraid of it. He had often done 
little reporting jobs for the paper before, attending 
unimportant meetings and writing a few lines about 
them which had actually appeared in print. Occa- 
sionally he had ventured into a bit of descriptive 
writing, with some success. But that governor 
business ! That was more than he would have 
believed the editor would trust him with. 

The editor knew what he was doing, though. 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. II 

Dick had a reasonably good education, having gone 
through the village school, and he knew how to get 
a fact and write it in good plain English without any 
nonsense. He was a manly looking fellow, too, five 
feet nine ; and his cheery, handsome face and bright 
gray eyes opened many a door for him where an 
older man might have been repulsed. 

“ What is the governor business you ’re going to 
do ? ” the foreman asked presently, after hearing the 
editor go out and shut the front door. 

“ Oh, have n’t you heard of it ? I thought every- 
body in Russellville knew about it,” Dick replied. 
“ Of course you know that Mrs. Thornton is a sister 
of Governor Wright, the governor of the State, and 
that she is very sick. She is much worse to-day, and 
they have telegraphed for the governor to come on, 
and he is expected here about nine o’clock this 
evening.” 

Dick had more things to think of now, as he went 
on distributing his type without throwing italic words 
into the quad box as some printers do when excited. 
Seeing the governor would interfere with his business 
at home, and that must be postponed. And going 
up to a real governor and interviewing him, he 
regarded as a very serious matter. But he knew 
the Thorntons well, and they would make a way for 
him to reach the governor, when he was at leisure. 
There was one dark spot, though, in this bright 
prospect. He could not help thinking that in 


12 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


another week he might be rolling logs in a saw-mill 
instead of interviewing governors for a very respect- 
able weekly newspaper. 

At nine o’clock that evening Dick started out for 
the Thorntons’ house, revolving in his mind a dozen 
questions that he intended to ask the governor if 
he got the chance. The governor was to drive over ; 
for although Russellville is less than an hour’s ride 
from New York it is several miles from the nearest 
railway. It is a slow, old-fashioned town and its 
Record is a slow, old-fashioned newspaper ; but that 
was in Dick’s favor, for none but a very old-fashioned 
paper could have sent its office boy to interview the 
governor of the State. 

As he went down the quiet street, Dick saw that 
something unusual was going on. People were 
gathered in little groups talking ; and almost a 
crowd, for Russellville, stood in front of the drug- 
store. 

“What is it?” he asked. “What is the matter?” 

“ The governor,” was the answer, “ has been 
killed ! ” 

“No, not killed,” said another, “but very badly 
injured. The horses ran away and he was thrown 
out. They have taken him to his sister’s, and 
three doctors are trying to bring him back to 
life. He has been unconscious ever since the 
accident.” 

For a moment Dick was dazed ; and then there 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE . 


13 


came upon him that feeling of responsibility that 
comes even to an old reporter when an important 
piece of news lies before him. 

To verify the report — he was sure that that was 
what he ought to do first, for such things are often 
exaggerated. He hurried on to the Thornton 
house and found a crowd in front. While he waited 
one of the doctors came out ; and Dick, knowing 
him, stepped into the carriage with him. Yes, the 
rumor was only too true. The horses had taken 
fright, Governor Wright had been thrown out ; he 
had been carried unconscious to his sister’s house, 
and the physicians had found a bad fracture of the 
left thigh. There were injuries to the head, too, but 
it was impossible to say yet how serious. The 
doctor was hurrying after splints and bandages and 
would return to the house. Dick could go back 
with him, he said, and see the governor’s secretary, 
who was in the party. 

It was while he rode in the carriage with the 
doctor that an idea came to Dick which changed his 
whole subsequent life. Here was news, he was sure 
of it ; a serious accident to the governor of a great 
State was news that even the big city papers would 
print, and if they would print it they would pay for 
it. He might make three dollars, a whole week’s 
wages, if he could get the news to one of the morn- 
ing newspapers. No telegraph office in Russellville 
was open at that hour, but there was a train for the 


14 THE YOUNG REPORTER . 

city at eleven oclock, if he could get a friend to 
drive him over to the station. 

With this idea in his head Dick worked like a 
Trojan. To see the governor was out of the ques- 
tion, but he saw the secretary and talked with him. 
Then he saw the doctors and got a brief written 
statement from one of them. The driver had a 
story to'tell, and Dick made full notes of it all. In 
an hour he felt sure that he had everything at his 
fingers’ ends. 

“ But will this be fair ? ” he asked himself as he 
went down the street to meet the friend who was 
to drive him to the railway. “ I was sent out 
to report the governor’s visit for The Russellville 
Record, and will it be fair for me to write an account 
of the accident for some other paper ? ” 

It was a very proper question for him to ask, and 
fortunately his editor was on hand to answer it. He 
was walking up the street that Dick was walking 
down. 

“ It ’s a very bad accident, sir,” Dick hurriedly 
said ; “ the governor’s thigh is broken and his head 
is injured. Would it make any difference to you, 
Mr. Davis, if I should take an account of it to one 
of the New York papers?” 

“ Not the least in the world ! ” the editor replied, 
smiling; “it’s a good idea. Go ahead, my boy, 
and they ’ll pay you for it.” 

At twelve o’clock, midnight, Dick was in New 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. 1 5 

York city, having stopped a moment at home to 
explain the situation ; and ten minutes later he was 
in front of The Daily Transport office. He had 
passed the building often before, but never at mid- 
night ; and when he saw the row of bright lights all 
across the third and fourth stories, and the men at 
work in the brilliant counting-room below (enough 
men, it seemed to him, to write and print the paper 
themselves), he began to feel a little timid about 
going in. 

“ Pshaw ! ” he said to himself after hesitating a 
moment outside; “I have something to sell that 
I ’m sure the paper wants to buy. Anyhow, I don’t 
believe they ’ll eat me in there.” 

When he inquired for the editor at one of the 
counting-room windows, the nearest clerk raised his 
head from his work long enough to nod toward the 
stairway, and to say : — 

“ Third story ! ” 

This was surprise number one for Dick. Here 
was a great New York office without an elevator, 
and with long dark stairs to climb .! It was his 
favorite paper, too ; the best of them all, as he 
thought, and he was rather disappointed. But he 
climbed the stairs, one long flight and two shorter 
ones, and went through an open doorway into a 
blaze of light. 

It was an immense room that he found himself 
in, with long rows of desks and chairs and electric 


1 6 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

lights innumerable, and larger desks at the farther 
end by the front windows. A small space about the 
entrance door was enclosed with a railing. Thirty 
or forty men sat at the desks ; a few writing, some 
reading newspapers, others grouped together and 
talking in low tones. Everything was as calm as a 
May morning. 

This was surprise number two. The paper must 
go to press certainly in an hour or so, yet all these 
men were as unconcerned as though they were 
writing for a monthly magazine. And where were 
the messenger boys, rushing excitedly in and out, 
bearing important dispatches from all parts of the 
world ? Not a messenger did he see. Why, there 
was more excitement in The Russellville Record 
office on publication day. 

An office boy stood in front of him inquiringly, 
and Dick said that he had some news for the editor. 

“ Night city editor,” said the boy ; “ step this 
way.” 

He led Dick through a long alley between two 
rows of desks to the front of the room, and pointed 
to a chair at the side of the editors desk. Dick sat 
down and felt reassured when he found that the 
night city editor was a very young man, not more 
than four or five years older than himself. 

“We had an accident in our place — in Russell- 
ville — to-night,” he said when the editor looked 
up ; “ Governor Wright was thrown out of his 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. IJ 

carriage and was very seriously hurt. His thigh 
was broken and they do not know yet how danger- 
ous the injuries to his head may be.” 

“ And your name is ? ” — the editor asked. 

“ My name is Richard Sumner, sir,” Dick an- 
swered. “ I am from The Russellville Record.” 

“Just tell me the circumstances, Mr. Sumner, as 
briefly as you can,” said the editor. 

Dick felt that he was blushing, for it was the first 
time he had ever been called Mr. Sumner. But he 
had the story well in mind, and told it as briefly and 
clearly as he could, with all the important points 
well brought out. 

Before the young editor had time to say any- 
thing, after Dick finished, an elderly gentleman, who 
had been sitting at a neighboring desk, apparently 
paying no attention to the talk, pushed back his chair 
and stood up and began to open a most formidable 
battery upon the young printer. He first wiped one 
pair of spectacles and put them on, then wiped 
another pair and put them on over the others. 
Through both pairs of glasses he looked searchingly 
into Dick’s face. But his own gray-whiskered face 
was such an embodiment of good-nature that Dick 
was not alarmed. 

“ Young man,” said the older editor, his glass 
^ns still aimed straight at Dick’s face, “ can 
you write that story as well as you have just 
told it?” 


1 8 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

“I think so, sir,” Dick answered. “I wrote part 
of it while I was in the cars.” 

“ Then give me what you have ready,” said the 
editor, “ and sit right down at that desk and finish 
it. Give all the particulars fully ; we have plenty 
of room for important news. But no slush, mind 
you ; not a line. Have you taken this to any other 
paper ? ” 

“ No, sir,” Dick replied. 

“ But there is a telegraph office in Russellville?” 

“Yes, sir, there is,” Dick answered ; “ but it was 
closed at eight o’clock, before the accident hap- 
pened.” 

“Then don’t go anywhere else,” said the editor. 
“ Stay here with me till I can show you a proof, and 
I will pay you extra for it. Now fire away ; you 
have an hour and twenty minutes to write. We go 
to press at 1.50.” 

Dick sat down at a desk with a handful of manilla 
paper before him, and spent a minute or two in 
thinking before he began to write. There he was 
with important news, and only two of the forty men 
paid any attention to him, or even looked at him. 
And he could not understand why they would take 
news from a stranger so willingly ; he had expected 
to be questioned very closely, for how could they 
know that his news was true ? But there ‘was no 

* ■hr a 

time to waste, and he fell to work. 

It was not instinct that taught him to begin the 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. 


9 


article with a brief statement of all the principal 
facts. He had learned that way by reading the 
Transport carefully. Then he went on with an 
account of Mrs. Thornton’s relationship to the 
governor, her illness and relapse, the governor’s 
arrival in Russellville, the fright of the horses, the 
accident, and the extent of the governor’s injuries. 
After these things came an interview with the 
doctors and the private secretary and a copy of the 
statement that one of the doctors had written for 
him. Last of all was a talk with the driver, in 
which that well-frightened person told in his own 
way how and why the horses ran away. 

“ Don’t hurry yourself,” the night city editor 
called over to Dick, seeing how rapidly he was 
moving the pencil. “Plenty of time. You’ve' 
nearly forty minutes yet.” 

When Dick looked up to answer, a cold chill ran 
down his spine. The editor with the spectacles 
was at work on his early copy with a blue pencil, 
marking out whole paragraphs, killing lines and 
parts of lines, transposing sentences, inserting 
new words, making changes here, there, and every- 
where. He had never seen copy with so many 
blue lines. 

“ A nice job I ’ve made of it,” he said to himself. 
“I guess they’ll not want any more of my copy 
in the Transport office.” But the next minute he 
saw that the young editor was doing precisely the 


20 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


same thing with the copy he was reading, and that 
consoled him. 

Long before 1.50 came, Dick’s copy had all 
been edited and sent up to the printers. Both 
the editors seemed to have forgotten him, and 
he was left to amuse himself with the loose news- 
papers and • directories and traveler’s guides that 
were scattered about. The older editor was con- 
stantly going out of the room and coming back, and 
the younger was busy with copy that was laid upon 
his desk every few minutes.* 

“ There is later news for you,” said the editor with 
the glasses, as he came in with a handful of proofs 
and handed Dick an open telegram. 

The dispatch was dated “Russellville, 12.45, via 
Branchport, 1.20 a.m.” ; and the date line made Dick 
open his eyes. “ Governor Wright still uncon- 
scious,” it said. “ Slight fracture of skull. Physi- 
cians give little hope of his recovery. Good night. 
Simmons.” 

“Why!” Dick exclaimed; “how did you get 
that, sir ? ” 

“ Newspapers have long arms, Mr. Sumner,” the 
editor replied with a smile ; and the next minute he 
was busy with his proofs. 

Dick understood now why the Transport’s editors 
had been so willing to accept news from a stranger. 
They had treated his news exactly as though they 
were sure of its truth, even to putting it in type, to 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE . 


21 


be ready if it proved genuine. But without con- 
firmation they would not have published it, except 
perhaps as a rumor. Then in some unknown way 
they had managed to get one of their own men to 
Russellville, and his telegram had removed all 
doubts and added later news. The skilful way it 
was managed filled him with admiration. 

“ And they don’t care a cent whether I see a 
proof of my article or not,” he said to himself. 
“ In fact I don’t believe they will show me a proof 
at all, for it ’s not necessary. They ’re just keeping 
me here so that I won’t take the news to any of the 
other papers. They ’re after a ‘ beat,’ and I think 
they’ve got one.” 

Rap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-atap-atap- 
atap, atap. It was a heavy pounding somewhere 
overhead; and Dick knew what that meant, too. 
The printers were “ planing down a form ” — level- 
ing the type with a mallet and smooth block of 
wood. That is one of the last operations before 
the presses begin to move, and a sure sign that the 
paper will soon be out. But the gray- bearded editor 
worked away at his proofs, and still Dick was left to 
himself. 

Presently there came up through the floor a noise 
that sounded like suppressed shrieks, followed in a 
few seconds by a rumble and jar that shook the build- 
ing. The belts had taken hold, and the presses were 
at work, three stories below, far under the sidewalk. 


22 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


At 2.10 a . m ., a boy rushed in with an armful of 
fresh papers, and handed one to each of the fifteen or 
twenty men who still remained in the room. Dick 
had no need even to open the paper to see his article, 
for there it was in the place of honor, the first col- 
umn of the first page, with a big head over it, and 
the first third of a column double-leaded to make it 
look larger. He was almost frightened when he 
turned the paper over and found that he had written 
a column and a quarter. 

“ That is a good thing of yours, Mr. Sumner,” 
the spectacled editor said ; and Dick felt himself 
growing red when fifteen or twenty pairs of eyes 
were turned toward him. “You evidently know a 
piece of news when you see it, and you have 
handled the subject well. Let me have your name 
and address, please ; there may be more news in 
Russellville.” 

While Dick was writing his address on a piece of 
paper the other morning papers were brought in by 
a boy and laid upon the spectacled editor’s desk. 
He picked out the three or four leading ones and 
hastily looked them over. 

“ We ’ve done them ! ” he exclaimed ; and he 
turned about and beamed smiles over everybody 
present. “ No one else has a word about Gover- 
nor Wright’s accident. Your first article in the 
Transport is a straight out-and-out obeat, Mr. 
Sumner.” 


A NIGHT IN THE TRANSPORT OFFICE. 




He turned to his desk again and hastily wrote a 
few words with his blue pencil. 

“ Hand this to the cashier on your way out,” he 
said, giving Dick a small slip of paper ; “ and come 
to us when you have more news. Good night, Mr. 
Sumner.” 

Pride, excitement, fatigue were all helping to 
make Dick feel that the night’s work was not quite 
real. He had stepped upon the magic carpet and 
it had carried him to enchanted regions far away 
from Russellville and the Record office. On the 
first landing he stopped under the light and read 
what the spectacled editor had written upon the 
slip of paper : — 

Cashier Daily Transport, — 

Please pay the bearer twenty-five dollars for important exclusive 
information. John B. Goode, Night Editor . 


CHAPTER II. 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 

IT ERE, Dick ! Wash the small rollers and be 
* quick about it.” 

“ Well, this is a funny old world,” Dick said to 
himself. “ Last night some of the big editors were 
calling me Mr. Sumner and telling me I ’d written a 
good article, and this morning I’m only ‘ Here, 
Dick ! ’ again.” 

But he picked up the black sponge and began the 
inky work as cheerfully as a boy could who had been 
up all night and lived for two or three hours in a 
dream. 

He had taken an early train from the city, and by 
walking from the railway had reached home in time 
for a bite of breakfast before he opened the office 
as usual. Not a word did he say to any of his fellow- 
printers about what he had done ; but a copy of The 
Daily Transport was carefully folded up in his coat 
pocket. He thought more of that one than any of 
the other copies that he had bought at the news 
stands, because it was the one that had been given 
him in the office. It was a sort of sacred relic to 
him, important enough to be framed. 

Somehow the saw-mill project seemed miles away 
24 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER . 25 


now. There was little chance of such a piece of 
news happening in his way again, but it did not seem 
possible that he could be taken away from the types 
and presses, after such an experience. 

“ Here, Dick ! ” 

It amused him more now than ever, the constant 
calling of “ Here, Dick ! ” But this call came from 
the editor’s room, and he hurriedly washed the worst 
of the black from his hands. 

“ I have just been reading your article in The 
Daily Transport, Dick,” the editor said. “ You gave 
them the facts very correctly, and they must have 
turned them over to a good man to write the story, 
for he has done it capitally. Do you know who it 
was ? ” 

“ I wrote the article myself, sir,” Dick answered 
modestly. 

“What!” the editor exclaimed ; “you wrote the 
article ! Well, that ’s strange. You know I used to 
have something to do with the Transport myself, 
and of course I know that when a stranger goes in 
with important news they have him tell it to one of 
the reporters, and the reporter writes the article. 
Tell me how it happened that they let you write it.” 

Dick gave a brief account of all his experiences 
in the Transport office, not forgetting his first state- 
ment to the night city editor that was overheard by 
the night editor, the cutting and changing of his copy, 
and the compliment that the night editor paid him. 


2 6 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Well, I am glad to hear that,” Mr. Davis said 
when he had heard the whole story. “ I am really 
glad to hear that, Qick. You did them a first-rate 
piece of work, and you have evidently established 
yourself in the good opinion of the night editor. 
You don’t know how much that means, but I do. I 
know Dr. Goode, the night editor, very well. Almost 
every newspaper man around New York knows him 
and loves him, for he is one of the dearest old men 
in the world. He is always on the lookout for 
bright young men who can be turned into good 
reporters ; and if I am not much mistaken he has 
you in his eye and you will hear from him again.” 

“ But I had only given the young editor a very 
brief account of the accident when Dr. Goode took 
me in charge, sir,” Dick interrupted. 

“ That ’s it exactly,” Mr. Davis continued; “and 
Dr. Goode overheard you, and he saw in a minute 
that you had the story properly laid out in your 
mind and knew how to handle it. That was why he 
took you out of the young editor’s hands and 
looked after you himself. You see the young man, 
the night city editor, has charge of the city news at 
night, but Dr. Goode, the night editor, has charge 
of the whole paper at night, under the managing 
editor. Your plain, straightforward way of writing 
evidently pleased him, and* I am afraid that before 
the year is up I shall lose one of the best office 
boys I ever had.” 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 


27 


“ Thank you, sir,” said Dick, blushing furiously. 
“You are very kind to say so; but I don’t think 
there is any danger of that.” 

There was great danger of it, however, and steps to 
bring it about were in progress at that very moment. 

“ Don’t take too much credit to yourself, though, 
Dick,” Mr. Davis went on with a smile. “ I don’t 
want to see you spoiled at the start. Remember 
that circumstances had more to do with it than you 
had. If Russellville were not such a little out-of- 
the-way place, there would be some newspaper 
correspondent here, and then you would have had 
no chance at all. If Dr. Goode had not accidentally 
overheard you telling the story, he could not have 
taken a fancy to your way of telling it. But that 
is the way things always go ; we are creatures of 
accident. The bright man takes advantage of the 
accidents and turns them to good account, and 
that is exactly what you did.” 

Dick might not have set type as complacently 
that morning if he had known all that the night 
editor did before he went home. The young printer 
was hardly out of the Transport office before Dr. 
Goode took up a small slip of paper and wrote a 
brief note to the city editor with his ever-present 
blue pencil. 

“ Dear John,” he said in the note, “ the young 
man who did the Governor Wright beat for us this 
morning is Richard Sumner, of Russellville. 


28 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ He has a nose for news and he writes good 
English. 

“You might make a reporter of him, if you have 
a vacancy. Yours, J. B. G.” 

When the city editor reached his desk at ten 
o’clock in the morning he found this note among a 
dozen others, and, after reading it, he laid it under 
a paper weight till the rush of morning work was 
over. Then he took it up again and wrote a very 
short letter to “ Mr. Richard Sumner, Russellville,” 
and sent it to the mail box. The fewer letters a 
man gets the longer he takes to answer them ; and 
the city editor of the Transport gets so many that 
he answers each one on the instant. 

Dick was in blissful ignorance of all this ; and 
when he was sent after the evening mail, about 
five o’clock, it gave him a start to find a letter 
addressed to himself, with The Daily Transport 
printed across the envelope in big type. 

“ Dear Sir,” the letter read, “ I should be glad to 
have you call and see me at The Daily Transport 
office any day before six o’clock p.m. 

“ Truly yours, J. H. Brown, City Editor." 

When Dick showed this note to the editor of the 
Record, that gentleman merely gave an “ I-told-you- 
so ” smile and said: “Those fellows don’t waste 
much time, do they ? ” But when he read it at 
home before supper to his mother and Florrie, it 
threw the household into confusion. 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 


“ O Dick ! ” his mother exclaimed ; and Dick 
noticed that she turned her head away, “ they want 
you to write more for them, I know they do ; and to 
think that I almost wanted you to leave the business 
and work in a saw-mill ! Of course they would 
send for you, you write so well ; and your being a 
printer is a great help, for you could help to print 
the paper.” 

“I don’t believe that’s what it is about,” said 
Florrie. Happy as she was over Dick’s success, 
she could not help teasing him a little. “ I think 
Dick has made some bad mistake in his article, and 
they want him to come and explain it.” 

But while she spoke Florrie stood behind his 
chair stroking his head ; and more than one Russell- 
ville boy would have been glad to sit in Dick’s chair 
at that moment. 

“ You must not have such an idea, mother,” Dick 
answered. “ I have great hopes that they will give 
me something to do, from what Mr. Davis told me 
to-day. But it would be something very small, at 
the best. It was not my writing they cared for, but 
the news I took them. I can write a plain statement 
well enough, but what is that compared with the way 
that most of those Transport men can write ? 
Even if they give me a chance, I may not be able 
to please them.” 

It was fortunate for Dick that he was as honest 
with the city editor a few days later as he was with 


30 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


his mother. Men go to see the city editor every 
day who try to pass themselves for something they 
are not, and the editor sees through their little 
deception in a minute and shakes them off. But 
Dick told everything about himself frankly. Instead 
of trying to magnify himself he said that he was 
working in a printing-office for three dollars a 
week ; that he was a little past eighteen years old, 
and had been through the Russellville public school. 

“I’m afraid I am not as good a speller as I ought 
to be, sir,” he added doubtfully. 

The editor smiled. 

“That doesn’t make the least difference,” he 
said. “ One of the best reporters I ever had spelled 
door d-o-a-r. If a reporter can get the news, the 
printers will see to his spelling.” 

They talked for ten or fifteen minutes, and the 
editor liked Dick’s honest, manly way. 

“Well,” said he in conclusion, “we will take you 
on trial as a reporter. You can begin to-morrow 
morning, if you like, and report to me at ten o’clock. 
The salary will be fifteen dollars a week.” 

The salary will be fifteen dollars a week. The 
salary will be fifteen dollars a week. Dick kept 
saying it over and over to himself as he went down 
the stairs. Perhaps there was some mistake about 
it. No, that was what the editor said, fifteen dollars 
a week. He was rather alarmed at it. For such a 
salary they would expect more of him than he was 




THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 3 I 

capable of. Fif-teen dollars a w-e-e-k ! Fifteen 
times fifty-two is 780 ; seven hundred and eighty 
dollars a year ! 

When Dick reported for duty the next morning 
he felt that he was beginning a new life. Mr. Davis 
had released him immediately from the Record office, 
and he was no longer a printer’s boy. Fie had a 
vague idea that he would be sent out to a good 
street corner to pick up some of the things that are 
constantly occurring in New York. Maybe he would 
happen upon a fire, or it might be the catching of a 
pickpocket, or somebody run over. 

But his first morning’s experience was very differ- 
ent from this. After reporting to the city editor he 
was told to sit down and wait ; and he sat in one of 
the chairs from ten o’clock till half-past two without 
anybody paying the slightest attention to him. 
Other men came in and got their orders and went 
out again, but Dick seemed to be entirely forgotten. 

“ I wonder whether Mr. Brown thinks I ’m too 
young, now he ’s had a second look at me,” he said 
to himself. “ It ’s very strange. Here they ’re 
paying me two dollars and a half a day, and they 
don’t give me anything to do.” 

It was a great relief to him when one of the 
reporters, a man whom he remembered seeing in 
the office on the night of his first visit, came up and 
spoke to him. Dick remembered him particularly 
because he was the handsomest man in the office 


3 2 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


and seemed to have a pleasant word for everybody. 
He was very dark, with a silky black mustache, and 
was extremely well dressed. 

“ Well, my boy,” said this handsome reporter, 
“ you ’re going to be a newspaper man, are you? ” 

“ I hope so, sir,” Dick answered. “ But I ’ve not 
done much so far. They have n’t given me any- 
thing to do yet to-day. 

“ Oh, you need n’t worry about that ! ” the man 
laughed. “ I suppose you are on salary, so you’ll 
soon have enough to do. You’ll only get little jobs 
at first, till they see what you can do. Thought of 
going out to try and pick up some news ? Oh, you 
could n’t do that. We very seldom pick up news. 
You see that book on the city editor’s desk ? That 
is what we call the assignment book. The city 
editor knows everything that should happen in the 
city to-day, all the routine things, and he makes a 
list of them in his book. Then he assigns one man 
to attend to each thing. There ’s a conference in 
the mayor’s office at three o’clock, and he wants 
Jack Randall to attend to it (I ’m Jack Randall) ; so 
he writes my name opposite the entry, and that’s 
my business for the afternoon. I must be off. If 
you get stuck on anything, come to me and I ’ll 
help you out. Ta-ta.” Handsome Jack Randall 
tapped Dick lightly on the shoulder and was off, 
little thinking how much pleasanter he had made 
the day for the new reporter. 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 33 

By three o’clock Dick began to feel the gnawings 
of hunger ; but his new friend Randall was gone, 
and he had no one to ask what was the reporters’ 
lunch hour. After some hesitation he stepped up 
to the city editor and asked : — 

“ Could I go out for a few minutes to get some- 
thing to eat, sir ? ” 

Mr. Brown leaned far back in his armchair and 
looked Dick pleasantly in the face, in a very reassur- 
ing manner. 

“ Go out just whenever you like, Mr. Sumner,” he 
answered, “ and eat all you want. You (don’t need 
to ask permission. And when you come back make 
yourself as comfortable as you can. We don’t have 
any slave rules in the Transport office.” 

It was new to Dick to feel at liberty to go in and 
out as he liked. One of the cheap restaurants in 
the neighborhood of Printing House Square sup- 
plied the food he needed, and he was soon back in 
his chair. He saw that the city editor had a pile 
of fresh newspapers on his desk, and was busy 
reading them. They were the early editions of the 
afternoon papers. 

“ Mr. Sumner ! ” said the editor, looking toward 
Dick ; and Dick hastened to him. Here was work 
evidently for him to do, and he was anxious to make 
a beginning. The editor had a small clipping in 
his hand, just cut from one of the newspapers. 

“ Here is something for you to do this evening, 


34 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

• 

Mr. Sumner,” the editor said. “ There is to b f e 
a meeting of the Stonecutters’ Protective Union, in 
Germania Hall, that you can attend. They seldom 
do anything but make speeches, and the whole 
thing probably will not be worth more than four or 
five lines. But you must always be on the lookout 
for anything unusual, of course, that might make it 
of more importance. Hand your copy to the night 
city editor ; and have it in as early as you can, 
please.” 

“ Yes, sir,” Dick answered as he took the printed 
slip the editor handed him. He was a little dis- 
appointed, but of course he did not show it. Mr. 
Randall had told him that he would get only small 
jobs at first ; but to write four or five lines for a 
day’s work seemed to him rather discouraging. 

“ Well, my boy,” one of the older reporters said 
to him as he resumed his seat, “ you ’ve got your 
first assignment, have you ? Let me see ; oh, the 
stonecutters’ union ; ” and the man laughed ; “ you 41 
get plenty of those little jobs till they find out what 
you can do. It ’s by doing these little things well 
that you ’ll gradually work into better ones.” 

“ I suppose a man must begin at the beginning, 
sir,” Dick replied ; and then wondered at what he 
had said, for he had never called himself a man 
before. But he sat down and began to study his 
slip carefully. At eight o’clock, so the slip said, the 
meeting was to be held ; and there would be sevei 1 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 


35 


addresses by prominent speakers. He laid it out in 
his mind just how his few lines should be worded. 
He was glad to think that it would take some little 
skill, at any rate, to condense a report of a meeting 
into four or five lines. 

It was not six o’clock yet when Dick left the office, 
and he had plenty of time for a leisurely walk up 
the Bowery. He had often seen the Bowery before, 
but never had it seemed so bright and busy to him. 
Instead of being merely a visitor now he had busi- 
ness there, business for a great newspaper, and he 
was actually a reporter going after information. 

The meeting proved to be very different from 
what Dick expected. The big hall was crowded, 
and the two factions in the union could not agree. 
One of the speakers was mobbed and injured, sev- 
eral shots were fired, the police rushed in with their 
clubs, and chairs were freely used as missiles. It 
was anything but a routine meeting. 

“ Why ! ” Dick said to himself as he hurried back 
to the office after eleven o’clock, “ in Russellville 
we ’d half-fill the paper with such a thing. Even in 
New York it must be worth more than four or five 
lines. I think the city editor would want me to 
write a little more than that — say fifteen or twenty 
lines, as several people were hurt.” 

The whole appearance of the office was changed 
when he reached it. The day staff of editors had 
g ne home and the night staff had taken their places, 


36 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


and the big room was brilliant and hot. Nobody 
paid any attention to him, for every one was busy. 
The night city editor’s only information about Dick’s 
work was in the single line in the assignment book : 

“Meeting of Stonecutters, Germania Hall — 
Sumner.” 

Dick sat down at his desk and wrote on the 
manilla office paper : — 

“ At the meeting of the Stonecutter’s Protective 
Union, held in Germania Hall last evening, the two 
factions in the society came to blows, and several 
persons were seriously injured, besides one man 
being shot. The Hon. George R. Heard, member 
of Assembly, made an address ; and some of the 
members, taking exception to his remarks, attacked 
him with chairs and table legs, and he was so badly 
hurt that an ambulance had to be called to take 
him to Bellevue Hospital. The police rushed in 
with drawn clubs, and several shots were fired. One 
man was hit by a bullet, but his name could not be 
ascertained. The hall, which was crowded, was 
cleared by the police.” 

“ There ! ” Dick said to himself after he had read 
the page a dozen times and made some changes 
each time ; “ I think that tells the story. If only I 
have not made it too long. Jack Randall would tell 
me if he were here, but he is out. I don’t think 
this will be too much about it.” 

He walked over to the night city editor’s desk 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 


and handed in his page of copy, as he saw the 
other reporters do. 

“ A meeting of stonecutters, sir,” he said. 

“ Very well,” the night city editor replied, scarcely 
looking up. But he took his blue pencil and 
checked Dick’s name in the assignment list and 
laid the page of copy on top of a heap of such 
pages. It must take its turn, and it might not come 
under his eye for an hour yet. Dick went to his 
seat and took up a newspaper, but he waited 
anxiously to learn the fate of his first day’s* work as 
a reporter. 

It was nearly midnight when Dick’s copy was 
picked up by the editor, and he was looking at the 
moment in another direction. 

“ Hello here ! ” he heard the editor exclaim. 
“What’s this? what’s this? Assemblyman Heard 
injured and taken to Bellevue Hospital ; another 
man shot ! Why, this was a riot ; we must have a 
column of this ! Who was such a — Oh, this is 
Sumner, a new man. Here, Mr. Sumner, please.” 

Dick was dazed as he stepped up to the editor’s 
desk. It was plain that he had made a terrible 
blunder. 

“ I am afraid you do not appreciate the value of 
news, Mr. Sumner,” the editor said. “A stone- 
cutters’ meeting is worth only a few lines, but a riot 
at such a meeting is a very different thing. We 
must have a much better account of this. You sit 


38 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


down and tell all the facts you have to Mr. Her- 
rick here. Mr. Herrick, you take Sumner’s facts 
and write the story. Mr. Black, call up Bellevue 
Hospital on the telephone, and inquire how badly 
Assemblyman Heard has been hurt. Get Police 
Headquarters, too, and ask for all particulars. We 
must know something about the man who was shot. 
Mr. Banks, you will find a biography of Assembly- 
man Heard in the library ; write me a brief account 
of his life, please, — about two sticks. We must 
have this ready in half an hour, gentlemen, if 
possible.” 

Three men set to work to do over again the 
report that Dick had made a failure with ! He was 
ready to sink through the floor, but he sat down 
and gave Mr. Herrick as complete an account 
of the meeting as he could. It was easy to see 
now that the news was of importance, and he won- 
dered at himself for not seeing it before. The 
order for four or five lines had misled him. 

Before one o’clock the new report was ready, 
nearly a column of it, the different parts of it 
neatly joined together by Mr. Herrick. Oh, how 
skilfully that man handled the matter, Dick thought, 
and how well he knew just where to bring in Mr. 
Black’s part of the story and Mr. Banks’ biography. 

“ A nice thing to have to tell mother and Flor- 
rie,” Dick said to himself as he went sadly down the 
stairs ; “to make such a break as that, and have my 


THE PRINTER BOY BECOMES A REPORTER. 


work done over again. I ’m afraid I have n’t got 
the brains to work for a big city paper, that’s about 
the amount of it. Anyhow I don’t suppose they ’ll 
want me any longer now that they see what I am. 
It will seem hard to go back to washing rollers and 
sweeping out the office after thinking myself a 
reporter ; but it ’s all my own stupidity.” 

Turning one of the sharp corners at a landing, 
Dick almost ran into Dr. Goode, who had been out 
eating his midnight lunch. The doctor wore only 
one pair of glasses now, and he had to look closely 
to see who was before him. 

“Oh, it’s you, Sumner, is it?” he asked as he 
recognized the new reporter. “ I see you had a 
little misfortune with your assignment to-night. 
But never mind, my boy ; ” and he laid his hand 
kindly on Dick’s shoulder. “ Such things happen 
to new men sometimes ; we rather expect them. 
It’s not the first mistake we mind, but having the 
same mistake made over and over. Keep your 
spirits up, and you ’ll soon be doing some good 
work for us.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 

\ li TELL, Mr. Sumner, your assignment last night 
* * turned out larger than we expected,” the 
city editor said when Dick reported in the office 
next morning. 

Dick had spent a miserable night, and he antici- 
pated at least a severe lecture. But the editor’s 
manner was kind and reassuring. 

“ Yes, sir,” he answered, “ the stonecutters had 
a very lively meeting, and I ought to have known 
that it was an important piece of news. I ’ll try to 
use better judgment next time, sir.” 

“ Oh, I think you ’ll soon learn,” the editor said. 
“ We don’t expect you to have much experience on 
your first day. You see when I tell you to write 
four or five lines, that is with the expectation that 
the matter will be of no importance. Something 
unexpected may happen and make it worth two or 
three columns. You will find it a good plan always 
to tell your facts briefly to the night city editor 
when you come in, and he will tell you about how 
much to write.” 

Several of the older reporters were ready to talk 
to Dick when he took his seat. It was easy for 

40 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


41 


them to see that he was worried over his mistake, 
and they felt sorry for him. 

“If you had told some of us what you had when 
you came in,” said Mr. Herrick, the reporter who 
had rewritten Dicks article so skilfully, “ we ’d 
have put you on the right track. But don’t worry 
over it ; you look as if you ’d cried yourself to 
sleep.” 

“Not quite as bad as that,” Dick answered with 
something of a smile. “ But I did have a very bad 
night of it. You see I was kept so late that I 
missed my train for home, so I went to the Astor 
House and took a room. It ’s a terrible noisy place 
over there.” 

“ It ’ s worse than noisy,” Mr. Herrick laughed, 
“ it ’s too expensive for a young reporter. You ’re 
not living out of town, are you ? ” 

Dick explained that he lived in Russellville with 
his mother and sister. 

“ Oh, that will never do ! ” Mr. Herrick exclaimed. 
“ No reporter can hope to live out of town. Our 
hours are so irregular that you’ll miss your train 
about five nights a week. The best way is to rent 
a furnished room and live in the city. That ’s the 
way most of us do. It leaves a man free to work 
at all hours.” 

“Yes, that’s a reporter’s life,” said young Tom 
Brownell, who was only two or three years older 
than Dick. “ A furnished room, meals in a Park 


42 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Row beanery, and empty pockets on Saturday night. 
That ’s all we can look forward to.” 

“ Don’t stuff the boy, Brownell,” said Mr. Banks, 
whose seat was near. “ Brownell is a space man, 
Mr. Sumner, who makes about sixty dollars a week 
and boards in a hotel. But it is a fact that you ’ll 
not be able to live out of town. You cannot do 
better than rent a little room for the present and 
take your meals in whatever restaurant you happen 
to be near.” 

This was a new idea to Dick, and he had plenty 
of time to think it over while waiting for an assign- 
ment. Russellville was so near, it had not occurred 
to him that he would not be able to go home every 
night ; but if he should be kept late often, and miss 
his train four or five nights a week, the hotel bills 
would soon use up his salary. Still, there was an 
objection to his living in a furnished room and 
restaurants. 

“ If I am to pay my way separately in the city,” 
he considered, “ what am I going to have left for 
mother and Florrie ? Fifteen dollars a week is a 
great deal of money, but money seems to disappear 
very fast here in the city.” 

He had plenty to do on that second day, but it 
.seemed to him that it was all work that an errand 
boy might have done. First he was sent to a steam- 
ship office to inquire about an overdue vessel, then 
down to Wall Street to carry a message to the 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


43 


financial reporter ; and in the evening he had two 
little meetings to attend, but they were of no im- 
portance, and he had not a single line to write. 

“ It ’s tough, is n’t it?” he said to Randall, when 
his last job was done and he was free to go home. 
“ I Ve not had a line to write to-day.” 

“ Tough ! ” Randall exclaimed ; “ why, my boy, 
I Ve often worked for two weeks on a job and then 
had nothing to write. You can’t expect to write 
much at the start, and some men never do. You 
will soon see that all the reporting of any importance 
is done by about half a dozen men. They get all 
the long articles to write, because they know how 
to do it. The rest have to take what is left. 

“Besides that,” Randall went on, “a new man 
has to wait for his opportunity. They’ll keep giving 
you this little work to do till some day a little thing 
turns out big, and then you ’ll have a chance to show 
what stuff there is in you. That ’s the way a new 
reporter gets a start.” 

“Oh!” Dick gasped; “and I had ju§t such a 
chance as that last night, and lost it ! ” 

“ Yes, you did,” Randall admitted ; “ but you 
can’t expect to do everything in a day. Another 
chance will come some day ; watch for it.” 

Watch for it ! Dick did nothing but watch for it. 
No matter how small his assignment was, and for- 
days and weeks they were all small, he went about 
it full of the hope that it might turn out to be 


44 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


of importance. Sometimes be was almost discour- 
aged, particularly when he looked about him and 
saw how many older men in the office, men who had 
been reporters for years, got no better work to do 
than he. Some of these men, too, were much better 
men than he ; he could not help seeing that. They 
had traveled everywhere, and were thoroughly edu- 
cated, and spoke many languages, but still their 
opportunity had not come. Perhaps his chance 
might never come again either. 

There were other things to make Dick feel 
uncomfortable. His mother had given him the 
best advice when he found that he must live in the 
city, and of course Dick had followed it, but he 
found himself very unsettled. 

“ If you must miss the train so often,” she said to 
him, “you will have to live in the city; but do 
nothing rash till you are sure of keeping your place 
in the office. Rent a little room somewhere for the 
present, and after a while Florrie and I will move in, 
if everything goes well, and we can take a tiny little 
flat, and all live together again.” 

So Dick was cut off from his family, a young lone 
bachelor in New York; and the little hall bedroom 
was doleful, and the restaurant meals were growing 
monotonous, for he could not afford to go to the 
good restaurants ; even the cheap ones swallowed up 
a large share of his salary. 

“ Here is a meeting of the Harbor Commissioners 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


45 


that you can attend this morning, Mr. Sumner,” the 
city editor said to him one day. “ They never do 
anything worth printing. Last time we merely said 
of them ‘ The Harbor Commissioners met yesterday 
and did nothing.’ There probably will not be more 
than a line or two to write about them.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Dick, and he could not help 
adding mentally, “that’s the reason I get the job, 
I ’m afraid, because it is of no account. But never 
mind ; my chance will come some day, and then I ’ll 
get better work.” 

It was as small and unimportant an assignment as 
was given out that day in the office ; but small 
as it looked it was destined to help Dick to a better 
standing on the Transport. The subject of tug- 
boats running about the harbor without proper lights 
came up at the meeting, and one of the Commis- 
sioners told of a thrilling experience he had had a 
few nights before, while taking the Vice-President of 
the United States down the harbor in a Revenue 
Cutter. A tug carrying no lights lay directly in the 
cutter’s way in the Swash Channel, and the cutter 
almost ran her down in the darkness. The Vice- 
President’s life, the speaker said, and the lives of 
all on board the cutter were put in great danger. 

This caught Dick’s attention at once. 

“The Vice-President in danger because a New 
York tug carried no lights ! ” he said to himself. 
“ It seems to me that ought to make a story that 


4 6 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


people would like to read. I wonder whether my 
chance has come at last. I ’ll not miss it this time 
at any rate.” 

He took full notes of the story, and as soon as 
the meeting was over he returned to the office and 
reported to the city editor, telling him briefly what 
he had heard. 

“That’s good, Mr. Sumner, that’s good,” the 
editor replied. “ We want that by all means. Write 
it up as fully as you think the facts will stand.” 

Dick felt his hand shaking when he began to 
write. It was his first real chance since the night 
when he wrote an account of the governor’s accident 
— except, of course, the chance that he let slip. 
Besides, he had not written enough yet to forget 
that he was writing for more than a hundred thou- 
sand readers. But the excitement wore off as he 
grew more interested in the subject, and when he 
finished he had written a plain but exciting account 
of the Vice-President’s adventure, enough to fill 
about two thirds of a column in the paper. 

It was almost exasperating to him to see the 
matter-of-fact way in which his copy was received ; 
how it was laid under a paper-weight with a dozen 
other articles, to remain there unnoticed until the 
night city editor came and in its turn passed judg- 
ment upon it. He was sent out immediately on 
another mission, and it was not till late that night 
that he heard anything about it. Then it was the 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE . 


47 


ever kindly Dr. Goode, the night editor, who men- 
tioned it. 

“ O Sumner, see here a moment,” the doctor 
called, adjusting his two pairs of glasses. 

As Dick approached his desk he saw that the 
proof the doctor held in his hand was headed in 
big letters, “ The Vice-President’s Peril,” and that it 
was his own article. 

“ This is a good thing you have done here, 
Sumner,” the doctor said. “We like stories of this 
sort, and I ’m going to put you on the first page.” 

A few weeks earlier Dick would have stayed in 
the office till the paper went to press, for the sake 
of seeing his article in print, but being more 
experienced now, he wisely went home and to bed. 

In the morning Dick found the city editor making 
remarks to the reporters, as usual, about their 
articles. “ Well done, well done, Mr. Banks ; ” or 
perhaps, “You made too much of that burglary 
story, Mr. Black.” His turn came almost as soon 
as he entered the room. 

“You did a good thing yesterday, Mr. Sumner,” 
was the greeting. “ I see none of the other papers 
have your story about the Vice-President’s peril. 
I suppose there were other reporters at the 
meeting ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, sir,” Dick answered ; “ five or six 

others. We all heard the story at the same time, 
but perhaps none of the others used it.” 


48 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


“Then you showed a better news sense than any 
of them,” Mr. Brown retorted, “ for such a story as 
that is news.” 

Dick was pleased with himself and all the world 
that morning, but it surprised him a little to find 
that he still got the same unimportant assignments 
— trivial meetings, things that an errand boy could 
have done equally well. This went on for so many 
days that he began almost to think there was not 
much use in taking advantage of an opportunity 
after all. But when he found such thoughts in his 
mind he held a little conversation with himself, for 
he did not like it. 

“ Now hold on to the ropes and keep pulling, 
Dick Sumner!” he said to himself. “ Don’t be a 
baby. Better work is coming by-and-by. If one 
or two good pieces of work don’t bring it, then 
three or four will, or five or six. Do the best you 
can ; and if you begin to grumble, I ’ll be ashamed 
of you.” 

He was always among the first to arrive at the 
office, perhaps because he had no great fancy for 
staying alone in his dismal little furnished room ; 
and one morning when he entered he was the very 
first reporter, aad only the city editor was at his 
desk. 

“ I thought you would be the first man here,” 
Mr. Brown said. “ You are generally early, Mr. 
Sumner, and I am glad that this time your prompt- 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


49 


ness is to be rewarded. I am going to give you an 
assignment of great importance this morning, be- 
cause I know you will do it faithfully, and I think 
you will do it well. It is a job that would naturally 
go to Mr. Randall, because he does all our Sing 
Sing work ; but he is out of town to-day, and I am 
going to entrust it to you.” 

Dick merely answered “ Yes, sir ; ” but the an- 
nouncement filled him with wonder. An assign- 
ment of great importance ! A job that would 
naturally go to Mr. Randall — to Jack Randall, the 
best reporter and best writer in the office ! He 
could hardly believe that he was to have a chance 
at such work. 

“ Here is a dispatch just received from Sing Sing 
prison,” the city editor went on, “ saying that four 
prisoners escaped this morning by stealing a locomo - 
tive. You understand that the New York Central 
Railroad runs through the prison grounds through 
a deep open cut in the rock. There are bridges 
across the cut, and every morning some of the 
prisoners are taken over the bridges to work in 
the quarry.” 

“ Yes, sir,” Dick repeated. He had read of this, 
though he had never visited Sing Sing. 

“ This morning, according to this dispatch,” Mr. 
Brown continued, “ four of the prisoners broke 
away from their guards while a slow freight train 
was passing under the bridges, dropped from one 


50 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


of the bridges to the tender, drove the engineer 
and fireman off with revolvers, uncoupled the 
engine, and escaped. It is an exceedingly dramatic 
story and must be told fully. You must take the 
first train for Sing Sing and get all the facts. See 
the warden, go over to the quarries, look at the bridge 
and the position of the train, get the names and 
histories of the escaped convicts, and of course be 
on the lookout for their capture. Tell the story 
vividly, but do not exaggerate the facts. Now the 
sooner you reach Sing Sing the better.” 

To go into the great Sing Sing prison, to talk 
with the warden, to go over the prison grounds, and 
to come back and describe one of the most remark- 
able prison escapes ever made ! Dick could hardly 
believe that such a job had been put into his hands. 

He knew that that day’s work would give him 
a standing in the office if he did it well, and he 
hurried down the stairs determined to put his whole 
heart and brain into it. 

As he reached the head of the long flight leading 
into the publication office he saw that a man below 
was about to come up. The man had stopped for 
a moment to talk with one of the clerks, and his 
hand rested on the top of the newel post. 

It was Jack Randall, the man who should have 
had this great Sing Sing story to write ! He had 
returned unexpectedly, and in a minute more the 
city editor would see him. 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


51 


Dick’s thoughts flew fast for a moment. If he 
went on down the stairs, he would immediately be 
swallowed up in the crowded streets and it would 
be too late to recall him. But would that be fair? 
The work must certainly have been given to Ran- 
dall, if he had been in the office ; it had gone to 
Dick only through a misunderstanding. His mind 
was made up in an instant, and he turned and ran 
quickly up the stairs. 

“ Mr. Randall is downstairs, sir,” he said to the 
city editor ; “ he will be up here in a moment.” It 
was like giving away half his chances in life, but he 
was sure it was the right thing to do. 

Mr. Brown looked up squarely into Dick’s eyes 
as he answered. 

“ It was very thoughtful in you to come and tell 
me, Mr. Sumner,” he said, “but I shall not change 
the assignment. You go ahead and do the work.” 

Dick was off like a flash for the Grand Central 
Station, exchanging salutations with Randall when 
he encountered him on the stairs. “ How much 
better I can do the work now,” he thought, “ than if 
I had gone ahead with a guilty conscience ! ” 

In the train he met four other reporters, one of 
whom he knew. They were from the other morning 
newspapers, and before they reached Sing Sing he 
found that one of the party was the great Bailey of 
the Herald, one of the best-known reporters in 
New York, and another Henderson of the Tribune, 


52 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


whom he had heard spoken of as one of the finest 
writers on the press. It was a fresh feather in his 
cap to be sent to do the work that such men 
were doing. But could he compete with them, he 
wondered ? 

In Sing Sing the five reporters walked down to 
the prison together and were shown into the 
warden’s office, and Dick’s idea of the power of 
the press was vastly expanded when he saw how 
they were treated. The warden, the man in charge 
of all that great prison with its thousands of pris- 
oners, whose word was law to scores of keepers, 
could not do enough for them. Did they smoke ? 
A box of Havana cigars was passed about. Would 
they eat a bite of lunch? Just a taste of chicken 
salad and a little cold fruit ? No ? Then let him 
ring for a glass of wine, for they would have a hard 
day’s work. But that was precisely why they 
would not take the wine, for such reporters as 
the four Dick met, capable of doing the best work, 
do not drink wine because they have work before 
them. 

The warden took them into the cell corridors, 
which made Dick shudder, and showed them the 
cells of the men who had escaped. Everything 
was open to them ; the prison books, showing the 
records of these men ; even the dark cell where 
one of them had been kept in manacles for miscon- 
duct a few weeks before. Then he told them the 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


53 


story of the escape, and an intensely interesting- 
story it was. 

“ Three of the men are burglars under long sen- 
tences/’ he said ; “ and the fourth is a five-year man 
for murder in the third degree. They are all old 
offenders and desperate characters. This morning 
they were taken as usual to their work in the quar- 
ries, guarded by two keepers armed with rifles. 
When the freight train came along, moving slowly 
through the cut under the bridges, these four men 
threw down their tools and ran for one of the bridges. 
The guards fired, but missed them ; and the men 
dropped from the bridge to the tender behind the 
engine. In an instant they were in the cab, and 
with cocked revolvers in their hands they ordered 
the engineer and fireman to jump off. We do not 
know how they got the revolvers. The railroad 
men were compelled to obey, and as soon as the 
convicts were alone on the engine they uncoupled 
it from the train and pulled open the throttle. 

“Now comes the strangest part of the story,” 
the warden continued. “ Not one of those men 
knew anything about running an engine, and they 
pulled the throttle wide open. To do that suddenly 
is very dangerous, and almost on the instant the 
engine blew off one of her cylinder heads. That 
was all that saved the men’s lives, for guards in 
the sentry boxes were firing at them with rifles. 
But so much steam escaped from the disabled 


54 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


cylinder that they were completely enveloped, and 
the guards could not aim. The rascals literally 
rolled out of range in a cloud of steam, and were 
away before we could reach them. 

“ However,” the warden went on, “ they had not 
gone more than four or five miles before the other 
cylinder head blew out, and the engine of course 
came to a stop. Then the men jumped off and 
took to the woods. They are still in convict clothes, 
and I have twenty men hunting them. We shall 
soon have them back.” 

“ What a story to write ! ” Dick exclaimed when 
the warden concluded. “ It ’s better than fiction.” 

“ Fiction ! ” sneered Henderson of the Tribune ; 
“ our facts beat fiction every day. There would be 
no fiction if there were no facts, Mr. Sumner.” 

Dick did not stop to ponder over this remarkable 
proposition ; he was too anxious to go out over the 
bridge to the quarry and see the scene of the 
escape, so that he could describe it accurately. The 
warden took the reporters all over the ground, and 
after that they separated, each one to pick up what- 
ever additional information he could. 

It occurred to Dick that the railroad people would 
have something to say about this summary mode of 
taking one of their engines, and he knew that the 
more people he saw who were in any way connected 
with the escape, the better story he could make. 
He went first to see the telegraph operator at Sing 

































































•f 




















* 


















































* 



♦ 



















r 





























4 





















YOU’RE JUST IN TIME, RANDALL!” 


m 




TNE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


55 


Sing, for something must have been done by wire. 
He soon made friends with the operator and had a 
long talk with him. 

“There’s a telegraph office at the prison, you 
know,” said the operator, “ and while the thing was 
happening they wired me, ‘ Four convicts stolen 
engine of 89, and running down the track with it.’ 
Eighty-nine is the number of the freight train, and 
they knew it. Well, sir, you can just believe that 
gave me a start. An engine running wild down the 
track ! There was no telling what they might run 
into, nor what lives or property they might destroy. 
My business was to send the news to the superin- 
tendent in the Grand Central Station and I did that 
just as quick as these jars of lightning would let 
me.” 

That was as much as the operator knew about it, 
but a word that he dropped gave Dick a hint of 
something better to come. To work out this new 
clew, however, it was necessary for him to go to 
Tarrytown, and he took the next train for that place, 
which is the next station below Sing Sing. In a 
few minutes he was talking with the Tarrytown 
station agent. 

“ I am a reporter for The Daily Transport, sir,” 
he said to the agent. “ Will you please tell me 
what orders you received about 89 this morning ? ” 

“ My boy,” said the agent with great emotion, “ I 
will tell you, but it makes my breath stop to think of 


56 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


it. You must understand that we have a siding 
here which ends on the wharf, and a fast train run 
on to that siding would inevitably be thrown into the 
river. The switch that controls it we call the north 
switch. Eighty-nine was due here in less than a 
minute when the telegraph operator handed me an 
order from the train dispatcher in New York. The 
order read : — 

“ ‘ Open the north switch and throw 89 into the 
river.’ ” 

“Well, sir,” the agent went on, “my heart stopped 
beating and my knees trembled. How many lives 
would I destroy if I obeyed that order ? But it was 
only for a second. Only one man runs these trains, 
and that is the train dispatcher.” 

“ And you opened the switch ? ” Dick asked, 
almost breathless with interest. 

“ I opened the north switch,” the agent replied. 
“ It was my duty to do it ; there was the order. I 
hope I may never have to endure such agony again, 
my boy, for I expected the next minute to see the 
train plunged into the river and everybody in it 
killed. Thank God, the engine blew out both her 
cylinder heads before she got here, and of course 
stopped. The train dispatcher, you see, knew that 
the convicts were running wild down the road, and 
he ordered the switch opened to prevent the much 
greater damage they might do further on.” 

When Dick mentally laid out his story in the train 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 57 

returning to the city, this incident seemed to him the 
most dramatic thing in it. 

“ It ’s worth a year s salary to talk to such a man,” 
he said to himself. “ I thought I knew something 
about obeying orders, but I understand it better 
now. And I don’t believe that any of the other 
fellows have got hold of this part of the story. Oh, 
if only they have n’t ! ” 

Jack Randall was in the office when Dick returned 
and sat down to write. 

“ Do you mind my looking over your copy ? ” he 
asked, after a few pages were written. “ I know 
everybody up there, so I ’m interested.” 

“ I should be delighted,” Dick answered ; “ and I 
hope you ’ll tell me if you see anything wrong.” 

It was a long evening’s work writing the article, 
for the pages made a thick pile — enough to fill two 
and a half columns of the paper. Dick had done 
a tremendous day’s work, but the excitement pre- 
vented his feeling yet the exhaustion that was sure 
to follow. 

“ Do you find any bad breaks ? ” he asked, after 
Randall had read the last page. 

“ Bad breaks ! ” Randall repeated ; “ why, Sumner, 
it ’s a classic. I thought you had some stuff in you, 
but I did n’t believe you could write like this. That 
‘ open the north switch and throw 89 into the river ’ 
is worthy of Dickens ; there ’s a touch of the 
Sidney Carton in it. You ’ll not be doing any more 


58 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


half-stick meetings and five-line fires after this, 
Sumner.” 

“ I ’m in hopes that I have that exclusive,” Dick 
said. “ I did n’t meet any of the other fellows while 
I was getting it.” 

“ It ’s the best part of the story,” Randall replied, 
“ though the whole thing is remarkable. You don’t 
want to go home yet, do you ? I mean to that hall- 
room cell of yours. A fellow always feels a little 
excited over a good subject like that, and wants 
somebody to talk to when it ’s done. I know how 
it is. Come around to the Scribble Club with me 
for an hour or two and meet some good fellows.” 

“The Scribble Club?” Dick repeated. “I have 
n’t heard of that.” 

“ No,” said Randall, “ it ’s not a big affair, like 
the Press Club ; just a quiet little club, very sociable 
and homelike. All newspaper boys, of course.” 

Randall had described Dick’s condition exactly. 
He was excited, wrought up to the highest pitch by 
his work, and the idea of going alone to his little 
room and trying to sleep was very repugnant. He 
was glad to accept the invitation and make the 
acquaintance of the Scribble Club. 

The club room was an apartment of good size, up 
one flight, over a restaurant in Duane Street. Its 
founders had doubtless had in mind the convenience 
of the situation, for it was connected by an electric 
bell with the restaurant below, and a push of the 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


59 


button summoned a waiter to take orders for any- 
thing desired. The room was comfortably furnished 
with armchairs and one large and several small 
tables ; the floor was carpeted, and files of the daily 
newspapers hung upon the walls. 

There were four young men in the room when 
Dick and Randall entered, all reporters engaged on 
various newspapers, and the entrance of Randall 
was the signal for a shout. 

“ You ’re just in time, Randall ; we want to start 
a game of poker, and you ’re the fifth man. The 
fellows don’t care to play four-handed.” 

“ I don’t mind, if it ’s a small limit,” Randall 
answered. “You can draw up a chair and watch 
us, Sumner. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Sumner, of 
the Transport.” 

“ Oh, just the usual,” was the reply as all the 
men spoke to Dick. Several of them he had met 
before in reporting. “ Five cents ante ; quarter 
limit.” 

The five seated themselves around one of the 
small tables and began the game. Dick had never 
seen cards played for money before, and it shocked 
him ; but he reflected that he had nothing to do 
with it, and could not prevent it if he would. He 
drew up his chair behind Randall and watched the 
play, and it was not long before he understood the 
principles of the game. 

After watching for some time he took from his 


60 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


pocket a letter from his mother that he had found 
in the office and opened it. It contained the first 
request for money that she had made. “ I do not 
like to ask for your little savings, my dear boy,” 
she wrote, “ and I know how expensive you find 
everything in the city. But I am down almost to 
the last cent of my quarterly income and have 
several bills to pay. I do not know how we will 
manage unless you can send me twenty dollars.” 

“ How lucky that I have been very careful! ” Dick 
said to himself. “ I have twenty-five dollars, and 
five dollars will easily take me through till next pay- 
day. I will go out early in the morning and take 
mother the money. I can show her my Sing Sing 
story, too, and I know she ’ll be proud of that.” 

“ The game ’s getting rather dry,” Dick heard one 
of the players say as he returned the letter to his 
pocket. “Let’s moisten it a little;” and the 
speaker arose and pushed the button. 

“ A Santa Cruz sour will about fit me,” Randall 
said when the waiter came and the others had 
ordered various drinks. “ What will you take, 
Sumner? ” 

“ I never drink anything, thank you,” Dick an- 
swered. He might have added that he had been 
invited many times to drink since his arrival in New 
York. 

“ But you need a drop of something to-night, 
Sumner ; you really do. You ’re as pale as a ghost. 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE. 


61 


You ’re all used up, man, and a sour will be just the 
thing for you. It ’s only a dash of rum in a glass 
of lemonade, you know.” 

“I certainly feel pretty tired,” Dick admitted. 
“ If I thought it would give me a little strength, I 
would take it — as a medicine. 

“ Of course it will,” Randall laughed ; “it would 
give grace and vivacity to a bronze statue. Make it 
two sours, waiter.” 

Dick took his first drink of liquor, not without 
some misgivings, and in a few minutes he felt 
much refreshed. He was thinking of starting for 
his room when one of the players announced that 
he had a midnight assignment and must go. 

“ Then you take his place, Mr. Sumner,” one of 
the others said. “ It’s only a five-cent game, you 
know ; you can’t lose anything at it, and we can’t 
well play without five.” 

Dick was on the point of saying that he did not 
understand the game, when Randall began to urge 
him. 

“ Take a hand for a few minutes, to oblige us, 
Sumner,” he said. “We’ll not play more than 
half an hour longer.” 

If it had not been for the liquor, Dick certainly 
would have refused to gamble. But that one glass 
of rum not only made him feel stronger, but some- 
how made him careless of what he did ; and he took 
the vacant place. 


62 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Gambling games rarely stop at the time ap- 
pointed, and at the end of an hour Dick was still 
playing. He had lost several dollars by that time, 
which was inconvenient, and had taken another 
Santa Cruz sour, which was worse. He felt strong 
enough now, and determined to recover his money. 
Two of the other players had lost far more than he ; 
and they had, as they expressed it, “ a mission to 
get even.” 

“Well, suppose we raise the limit to a dollar to 
give the losers a chance,” some one suggested. 

“I’m willing,” Randall said ; “ they re entitled to 
a chance.” 

All the others were willing, even Dick, who was 
reckless enough now for most anything, and anxious 
to win back what he had lost. 

At the end of another hour Dick was in the 
position that many a young reporter has found 
himself in to his sorrow. He had lost all his 
money except a little small change that jingled in 
his vest pocket, and he felt confused and wretched. 
There was no money left to take to his mother, not 
even money to pay his expenses through the week ; 
and over all was the terrible consciousness that he 
had been drinking and gambling and had disgraced 
himself. 

“ Never mind, old fellow,” Randall said, slapping 
him on the shoulder when the game was over. He 
saw the anguish in Dick’s face and felt sorry for 


THE STOLEN LOCOMOTIVE . 63 

him. “ Never mind ; you ’ve done a beautiful 
piece of work to-day.” 

“Yes, I have ! ” Dick answered with deep 
sarcasm in his voice ; “ a beautiful piece of 

work ! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 

O IMPLY immense, Sumner!” was the city editor’s 
^ greeting when Dick went into the office on the 
morning after his Sing Sing experience. “ ‘ Open 
the north switch ! ’ ha, ha ! Nobody else has a line 
of that. How did you get hold of it ? ” 

Dick might have answered that he got it by honest 
hard work and following up a very slight clew, but 
he merely said that he stumbled upon it. The 
pleasure of doing the piece of work in that day’s 
paper was all gone. His head still ached, and he 
was thoroughly ashamed of himself. Never before 
had so many of the good men of the office taken 
pains to speak to him ; never in his life had he 
received half as many compliments. But he could 
think of nothing but his shame at the Scribble 
Club, of his gambling and drinking and losing his 
money. 

The money loss was the smallest part of his 
disgrace, still it troubled him greatly. It was abso- 
lutely necessary for him to send money to his 
mother and to have enough to support him through 
the week, and he knew of no way to get it. 

“ There must be some way to raise a little money 

64 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 


65 


when a fellow is making a fair salary,” he reflected. 
“ Randall will know. He knows how I happen to 
be without money, and he can tell me what to do.” 

Randall’s advice to an older man would have been 
to take his watch to a pawn shop ; but when Dick 
asked it was different. Dick had had little experi- 
ence of life ; he was a boy among men of the world 
and he had great ability ; and all these things helped 
to make Randall take an interest in him. For there 
are many worse men in the world than Jack Randall. 
Generous to a fault, with no one but himself to 
support, he made money easily and spent it with 
equal facility, and spent it as readily on a friend as 
upon himself. 

“ Why, my boy, of course I can tell you what to 
do,” he said when Dick told him just how he was 
situated. “ It was my fault for letting you play at 
all, and I ought have known better ; but upon my 
word it was only thoughtlessness on my part. It 
was not that I wanted to teach you the lively ways 
of the Scribblers.” 

“ As far as the money goes,” he went on, “ that’s 
easily remedied. I am hard up myself, as usual ; 
but as soon as Dr. Goode comes in this evening I 
will borrow twenty-five dollars from him and turn it 
over to you, and you can pay it back whenever it ’s 
convenient; no hurry about it at all.” 

Dick’s assignments that day were much better 
ones than he had had before, and he tried to work 


66 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


hard enough to forget his troubles. It was almost 
a certainty that Dr. Goode would have something 
to say in the evening about the Sing Sing story, for 
the doctor seldom read an unusually good article in 
the Transport without saying a few encouraging 
words to the writer. 

“ And to think that if he speaks to me about it I 
shall have some of his own money in my pocket, 
borrowed to replace what I lost at gambling ! ” 
Dick reflected. “I half- wish I were back in the 
Record office, washing rollers for three dollars a 
week.” 

Dr. Goode took his time about commending 
Dick’s work that evening. He waited for an oppor- 
tunity to have him as nearly alone as possible, and 
then spoke, Dick thought, more kindly than he had 
ever heard him speak before. 

“ I like the construction of your Sing Sing story, 
Sumner,” the doctor said, taking off both pairs of 
glasses and wiping them with his handkerchief and 
then replacing them. “ A good article must be 
built up, you know, like a ship ; one part here, 
another there, and every part in the right place. I 
see that you understand that. You write good 
English, too, and that shows that your reading has 
been good, for no man can write good English who 
does not read good English. 

“ Of course you understand,” the doctor went on, 
“ that doing such a piece of work as you did yester- 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 


67 


day gives a man a certain standing in the office. 
He is considered one of the good men and steps up 
above the humdrum fellows who have no stuff in 
them. Naturally you will have a better class of 
work in the future, and in a short time your salary 
will be raised, for we do not ask good men to work 
for fifteen dollars a week. In time I expect you to 
be one of the best reporters in the city, if you take 
care of yourself. 

“ But only if you take care of yourself,” the doc- 
tor continued, laying his hand gently on Dick’s 
knee. “ Many a man has started here with pros- 
pects as bright as yours, and has gone to pieces. 
Scribble clubs and rum and cards will soon darken 
the brightest prospects.” 

Dick started and blushed furiously and his lips 
trembled. 

“Yes, I know all about it, my boy. Randall did 
not want to tell me, but I wound it out of him 
because I like you. I like all young men who have 
brains. I understand what the temptations are ; I 
have been through it myself. I don’t want to 
lecture you, but merely to put you in the way of 
seeing for yourself. Look about the office among 
all the men you know, and you will see that the 
really successful ones keep away from the little 
clubs and the cards and the drink. A dissipated 
man may flourish for a time if he is exceptionally 
brilliant, but he is sure to be left behind at last. 


68 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


See that for yourself, and with your brains you will 
need no other argument.” 

Dick went home to Russellville that night for the 
first time in over a week, and his mother and sister 
gave him such a welcome as they considered due 
to a distinguished young writer and journalist, as 
they called him — half in jest and half in earnest. 

“ Say, sis,” he expostulated from the depths of 
the biggest rocking-chair, “ do me a favor, will you ? 
Never call me a journalist again. You don’t 
know how the real reporters and writers laugh at 
that word. They say that a journalist is a decayed 
penny-a-liner who comes ’round on payday and tries 
to borrow a quartei*. The fellows who do the work 
and make the money are content to be called 
reporters.” 

“ Very well,” Florrie laughed ; “ then I ’ll always 
call you a reporter.” She could not help noticing 
the change in Dick — a change for the better. He 
was so much more manly, so self-possessed, and he 
was dressed so much better. 

“ But I want you to tell me about Sing Sing,” 
she went on. “ Did you really go into that big 
prison and see the warden ? And did you see that 
splendid man who obeyed orders about the switch, 
though he thought it was going to kill ever so 
many people ? How do you ever have courage to 
ask questions of everybody, Dick ? ” 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, that was a pretty hard 


A WILD NIGHT ON NE W YORK BA Y. 69 

pull at first,” Dick replied. “ The first time I was 
sent to interview a man I walked up and down out- 
side for half an hour before I raised courage to go 
in. But that feeling soon wears off ; I don’t think 
of being diffident about it now. Indeed,. I think 
I rather like it. I want to take you and mother 
into the city with me in two or three weeks to help 
me interview a man.” 

“ O Dick ! ” they both exclaimed, “ how could we 
do that ? ” 

“ Easily,” Dick answered, smiling over his little 
mystery. “ You see the man is a real estate agent ; 
he has flats to let.” 

“Do you mean it, Dick?” his mother asked. 
“ Do you feel secure enough in the office to take 
such an important step ? ” 

The subject of taking a small flat in the city and 
all living together was thoroughly discussed. Mrs. 
Sumner had a little income of her own, and by 
uniting this with Dick’s salary a cheap flat could be 
rented, not more than twenty dollars a month. 
“ And it would be a positive saving to me,” Dick 
argued ; “ the restaurants are so expensive.” 

“ We can even do a little better than that,” he 
went on. “ I don’t know whether you have heard 
me speak of Darling, one of our copy readers. I 
did n’t discover his room till I ’d been some time in 
the office, for it ’s separate from our city room ; but 
Darling is a fine fellow, three or four years older 


70 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


than I am, handsome, too, and very quiet. He has 
no relations in the city, and when I mentioned the 
other day that we thought of taking a flat, he said 
he ’d like to rent a room from us, for he does n’t like 
to be among strangers. He would pay about four 
dollars a week just for the room, and with that we 
could afford a thirty-dollar flat ; and we can get a 
very fair one for that.” 

“ Thirty dollars a month ! ” Florrie exclaimed. “ I 
should think we ought to get a fine house for 
that.” 

Dick laughed merrily at his sister’s rural notions. 
He had learned something about city ways and 
prices. 

“ Perhaps I ’ll not be out again till it ’s time for 
you to come in and select the flat,” he said. “ I ’ll 
have longer articles to write now since the Sing 
Sing business, and long articles always keep a 
man late.” 

The brightest reporters, however, cannot be 
assigned to important things when no important 
things are happening ; and weeks passed before 
Dick had another chance to show his mettle. He 
was relieved of the tiresome work of attending 
petty meetings, and that was a gain ; and he was 
sure that when a chance came for doing good work, 
he would have his share of it. 

Darling, whose work was from six in the evening 
till the paper went to press at two in the morning, 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 71 

not only liked Dick’s writing, but liked Dick him- 
self, and he did all he could to hasten the day when 
Mrs. Sumner and Florrie should come in to help 
select a flat. 

“ At two to-morrow afternoon, Darling,” Dick 
announced when the time came. “ My mother 
and sister are to meet me at the south end of the 
postoffice at two o’clock, and you must be there 
and go with us, for you are interested in this thing, 
too. I hope we can find a flat where you can room 
with us. There ought to be no trouble when flats 
are so plenty.” 

“ There will be, though,” Darling answered ; 
“ there always is. When the flat suits, the price is 
too high ; and when the price suits, the flat does n’t. 
But I ’ll meet you at any rate, and we ’ll see what 
we can do.” 

It was not till Dick saw the next day that Darling 
preferred to walk with his sister, that he noticed 
how very pretty Florrie looked. She was a little 
girl in his eyes, though nearly seventeen, and her 
abundance of wavy brown hair, her expressive eyes, 
her pink cheeks, and her graceful bearing had never 
attracted his notice before. 

“ We will take a Fourth Avenue car,” Dick said, 
after Darling had been introduced to his mother 
and sister. “There are a great many flats in 
Fourth Avenue and some parts of it don’t look 
expensive.” 


72 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


It amused Dick to see how attentive Darling was 
to Florrie ; helping her into the car and pointing 
out the sights of the lower city. Dick had never 
paid much attention to young ladies. 

The car carried them up past Union Square, and 
a few blocks beyond that Dick saw a sign at the door 
of a large apartment house — “Apartment to Let. 
Inquire of the Janitor.” He knew it to be a very 
elegant and expensive place, for business had taken 
him there a few days before. But it occurred to 
him that it would be a good chance to let his mother 
and Florrie see one of the finest apartment houses 
ip the city, and at the same time he would surprise 
them a little with the price, which was sure to be 
high. He signaled the conductor to stop and gave 
Darling a sly look, which was understood. 

“We would like to look at the apartment you 
have to let,” Dick said to the attendant at the door ; 
and in a moment they were all in an elevator 
resplendent with gilt and mirrors, rapidly traveling 
skyward. 

“ It is a small apartment,” the attendant said 
when they reached the place; “only a drawing- 
room, two bed chambers, and bath. But there is a 
beautiful view ; this is the eleventh floor.” 

Mrs. Sumner shrank back from the window with 
an exclamation of alarm. “ Oh, I never could live 
up here, Dick!” she said. “It makes me giddy 


A WILD NIGHT ON NE W YORK BA Y. 


73 


just to look out. They’re such stuffy little rooms, 
too, though very handsome. I suppose they ’d want 
a pretty good rent, small as it is. What is the rent, 
young man ? ” 

“Thirty-five hundred a year, ma’am,” the attend- 
ant answered. “ We will have a larger apartment 
vacant in about two months ; that will be five 
thousand.” 

Darling was afraid that the ladies would express 
the surprise he saw in their faces, so. he hastily 
said : — 

“ We could hardly wait two months, and these 
rooms are too small ; so we may as well look else- 
where. Shall we go down ? ” 

“It was a shame not to tell you before we went 
in, mother,” Dick said when they were in the street 
again ; “ but I wanted to give you a little surprise. 
Those three small rooms are three thousand five 
hundred dollars a year, and we ’ve got to have at 
least six rooms for thirty dollars a month. So you 
see what a task we have before us.” 

It was a task indeed, but it was successfully ac- 
complished. After visiting places little better than 
tenement houses, and other places far beyond their 
means, they found an apartment in Forty-ninth 
Street, near Lexington Avenue, that was satisfactory 
in both size and price. 

“ No, you’re not going to fool me again, Dick,” 
Mrs. Sumner said when she first saw the marble 


74 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


columns in front, the carved doors, and the mosaic 
pavement. “ I ’m not going into any more of your 
three thousand five hundred dollar places.” 

“ No danger of that here, Mrs. Sumner,” Darling 
said with a smile. “The show is all on the outside 
here to catch the eye. We shall find it plain enough 
within.” 

It was plain, but clean and comfortable. “Just 
made for us,” Dick whispered to his mother. Up 
two flights of carpeted stairs, the apartment con- 
sisted of three cheerful bedrooms, parlor, dining- 
room, kitchen, and bathroom, all opening into a 
private hall ; and the rent was thirty dollars a month. 

“ If that hall bedroom will suit Mr. Darling,” 
Mrs. Sumner said, “I think we can get along very 
nicely here — though I must say I like to have 
a backyard.” 

“ It is exactly the room I want,” Darling declared ; 
and the flat was rented and arrangements made for 
moving in immediately. 

“I think we ’re going to be just as snug as can 
be here,” Dick said to Darling several days later, 
when the moving was completed, but the rooms not 
entirely put in order yet. “ What do you say to 
a little housewarming to-night, to give us a good 
start in the new home ? Just among ourselves, you 
know. I think an oyster supper would be the thing, 
and I ’m sure the folks would gladly sit up and help 
us eat it after we ’re through work.” 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 


75 


“ That ’s a good idea,” Darling answered. “You 
go ahead and make the arrangements and I will 
pay half the bills. 

“ It will be just fun to do the cooking,” said Florrie. 
“ I ’ll manage to cook whatever you get, and sit up 
to help eat it. It ’s the cutest little kitchen, with 
everything so handy that cooking is no trouble at 
all.” 

“ Oysters always go well,” Dick went on ; 
“ though anything ought to taste good in such a 
cozy little dining-room. We ’ll need about two 
quarts ; and I ’ll get some celery and crackers and 
a little Roquefort cheese to wind up with. Some 
other night we ’ll have a rarebit ; sis is famous for 
making rarebits.” 

Preparations for the night’s banquet were begun, 
but fate had decreed that Dick was not to help eat 
it. In his enthusiasm he had forgotten for the 
moment that a reporter is never master of his own 
time, but maybe sent to the most unexpected places 
at the most unexpected times. 

Dick’s day work kept him busy till eight o’clock 
in the evening, and as he had a small article to write 
after reaching the office, he had reason to believe 
that he would have nothing more to do that night. 
But he had hardly taken his seat when the night city 
editor called to him : — 

“ Sumner, can a man get over from Staten island 
to the New Jersey shore in a sailboat to-night?” 


76 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


It was not unusual for Dick to be asked such 
questions, because he made a specialty of studying 
up all the routes of travel in and about the city. 
He was a perfect walking guide-book, and almost 
every day he found the knowledge useful. 

“ He might, sir,” Dick replied, “but a sailboat is 
always very uncertain.” 

“ I have sent Lawrence to the lower end of Staten 
Island,,” the editor went on, “ with orders to get a 
sailboat and go over to Port Monmouth as fast as 
possible. Do you think he can get there before 
midnight ? ” 

“It’s very doubtful, sir,” Dick answered. “Of 
course it depends upon the wind, and I should not 
like to take any chances on it.” 

“Can you get to Port Monmouth?” the editor 
asked. “ Remember the last train went at six 
o’clock.” 

“ Oh, yes, I can get there if you don’t mind the 
expense,” Dick asserted. “It is merely a question 
of money.” 

“ You mean a tug ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Dick; “ I mean a tug.” 

“ Very well, then,” said the editor ; “ you can drop 
that insurance matter and take this case. You must 
get to Port Monmouth at all hazards. Of course 
you know all about the stealing of the body of 
Sterling, the great millionaire, from St. Mark’s 
Churchyard ; and you know what desperate efforts 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY . 


77 


the police are making to catch the thieves. The 
chief of police started for Port Monmouth on the 
six o’clock train, and he is supposed to have a clew 
to the thieves there. You must find the chief and 
learn whatever he learns. It is a matter of absolute 
must. You must get there. Here is an order on 
the cashier for fifty dollars for expenses.” 

“The World has proposed to us,” the editor con- 
tinued, “ to share the expense of a tug. Stop at 
the World office and say that we accept the prop- 
osition. They will send Mr. Hills with you to 
represent them. Now be off and don’t lose a 
minute.” 

Dick lost about twenty seconds in telling Darling 
that he was off for New Jersey and could not help 
eat the supper, and in almost no time he was at the 
World office, where he was joined by Mr. Hills, a 
short, stout reporter with a head full of brains. 

“The East River’s the place,” Mr. Hills panted. 
“ Right down Fulton Street to South.” 

Hiring a tug seems an easy matter with plenty of 
money at command and so many tugs in the harbor 
looking for work. But at nine o’clock at night one 
might almost as well try to hire a white elephant. 
Towing is day work ; and at six o’clock the tugs 
steam to their berths along the East River, fires are 
banked for the night, and captains and crews go 
home, leaving only watchmen in charge. 

The two reporters boarded a dozen tugs, but 


78 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


everywhere the answer was the same : “ Impossible ! 
Fires banked, crew gone home.” 

“ Can’t you send for the captain ? ” Dick asked in 
several places. The answer led him to believe that 
every tugboat captain in New York lived in Harlem, 
or Morrisania, or some other distant section. 

“Get an ocean steamer to whistle for one,” one 
of the watchmen suggested. “ That may bring one 
out.” 

“Capital idea!” Dick exclaimed. “Here’s the 
Ward Liner Santiago just below, at foot of Wall 
Street. We ’ll get her to whistle up a tug.” 

But that proved another disappointment. “ Could 
n’t think of it,” said the second officer, who was in 
charge. “If the captain himself was aboard, he 
would n’t do it, because if he did he ’d make the 
ship liable for the tug’s charges.” 

Matters were growing desperate. It was half- 
past nine by this time, and the editor’s words kept 
ringing painfully in Dick’s ears : “ It is a matter of 
absolute must. You must get there.” 

It was an inspiration that caused Dick to stop a 
nautical-looking man in South Street and ask him 
what saloon the tugboat men most frequented. 

“ Duffy’s,” replied the man without hesitation ; 
“ corner of Fulton Street. It ’s full of ’em at this 
minute.” 

In Duffy’s saloon the reporters found a crowd of 
tugboat men, and among them Captain Brett, of the 


A WILD NIGHT ON NE W YORK BAY. Jg 

tug Dart. Several of the captain’s men were there, 
too ; and he was willing to negotiate. 

“Do you hear the wind howl?” Captain Brett 
asked. “ It ’s an ugly night down the bay. But 
I ’ll risk the boat if you ’ll risk your lives. Ten 
dollars an hour it will cost you, gentlemen, from the 
time we leave the pier till we get back.” 

The terms were satisfactory and the bargain was 
made, and in less than twenty minutes the Dart was 
steaming down the East River, Dick and Mr. Hills 
in the pilot house with Captain Brett. 

“ You must understand,” said the captain, his 
voice half-drowned by the furious wind that 
pounded against the windows, “ that I only take 
you to Port Monmouth. I don’t agree to land you 
there. There used to be an old wharf there, but it 
may have blown down ; and anyway I could n’t find 
it this dark night. You must take your chances of 
getting ashore.” 

“ Very well,” Dick answered. “ Stop at the 
Battery boat-stand as you go out, and we will attend 
to the landing.” 

“ What good will that do ?” Hills asked. 

“Why, we’ll hire a Whitehall boatman to go with 
us, boat and all,” Dick answered. “'With his boat 
on board we can land wherever we like.” 

“ Good ! ” said Mr. Hills ; “ that ’s as good an 
idea as if I’d thought of it myself.” 

Five dollars proved sufficient to induce one of 


8o 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


the boatmen of Whitehall to put his boat aboard the 
tug and go along himself, and a few minutes later 
the little tug was dancing madly on the rough sur- 
face of the upper bay. * 

“This is nothing to what you’ll catch down 
below,” was Captain Brett’s comforting assurance. 
Down past the lights of Quarantine the tug steamed, 
through the Narrows, and into the lower bay. The 
roughness was nothing compared to the inky black- 
ness. The world surely never saw a darker night. 

It was almost 11.30 when Captain Brett rang a 
bell and the engines stopped. 

“ Now, then, gentlemen,” said he, “ as near as I 
can judge we’re off Port Monmouth. I can’t say 
to a certainty, but that ’s my opinion. A man can’t 
see through such thick black as this, and you must 
n’t expect it. If you like to take your chances, I 
think you ’ll find Port Monmouth somewhere off to 
the south’ard here.” 

Dick opened the pilot house door and stepped 
partially out, and Hills followed. The wind almost 
swept them from their feet ; the total darkness, the 
fury of the gale, the tossing of the little boat were 
enough to appall them. 

“I don’t half-like this,” Mr. Hills said as they 
hastily drew back and closed the door. “The 
captain may be mistaken after all, and not be any- 
where near Port Monmouth. What do >u think?” 



“ There is only one thing to think,” Dick 


A WILD NIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY. 


answered decidedly. “ We must get ashore. Let 
them lower the boat, captain.” 

In five minutes more, after some risk in the heavy 
sea, they were both in the Whitehall boat, and its 
owner was rowing them in the direction in which 
the shore was supposed to lie. Another minute or 
two and the boatman called out : — 

“ There ’s something ahead here, and we ’re near 
the beach, for I smell it. Yes, we’ve made it; 
here ’s the end of the old wharf. That was a good 
guess on such a night.” 

Dick and his companion, with their landsmen’s 
eyes, could see nothing ; but they could feel the 
worm-eaten timbers of the decaying old wharf. 
How long it might be and how far the end from 
shore they could not even guess. But they could 
tell by feeling that the structure towered far above 
their heads. There was no help for it but to climb 
the timbers, feeling their way slowly from one to 
another, to the platform far above. To make mat- 
ters worse, Mr. Hills was much too fat for a climber, 
and Dick had almost to drag him up. 

After climbing thus nearly twenty feet, with hands 
cut by barnacles and rusty spikes, both men stood 
safely upon the platform of the pier. Neither of 
them had ever been in Port Monmouth before, and 
perhaps that was not Port Monmouth after all. 
How many planks were missing from the shaky old 
pier ? How far was it to shore ? In what direction 


82 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


lay the town ? They must find it all out by 
feeling. 

“ That is all we want,” Dick called down to the 
boatman. *“ The tug can take you back to the city 
We are all right now.” 

“ Are we ? ” Hills panted. “ I wish I thought so ! ” 






CHAPTER V. 


“shadowing” the chief of police. 

' | ''HE gale threatened every moment to blow 
^ Dick and his companion from the old pier; 
and while the lights of the tug became smaller and 
smaller they felt their way carefully toward the 
shore. 

“ Let me go first,” Dick said, “ as I am so much 
lighter. We might find a rotten plank anywhere, 
or no plank at all. If there should be a wide gap, I 
hardly know what we ’d do, for we never could walk 
one of the timbers in this wind.” 

Fortunately there were no wide gaps and no 
planks too rotten to bear their weight ; and after 
traversing more than a hundred feet of pier, putting 
a foot down carefully with every step before trusting 
much weight upon it, they felt themselves upon the 
sand of New Jersey. 

“ I suppose the telegraph office must be the first 
thing for us to find, if this is really Port Monmouth,” 
Dick suggested. “ I should like to let the office 
know that I am here.” 

“So should I,” Mr. Hills responded; “and here 
is a good omen for us.” 

The good omen was the first ray of light they had 

83 


8 4 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


seen since leaving the tug. Through an opening in 
the black clouds the moon was making a sickly effort 
to shine. The light was very dim, but far better 
than the intense darkness. 

“There is a big house ! ” Dick exclaimed; “up 
this road, or street, or whatever it is. We can rouse 
them up and find out where we are.” 

They followed the sandy road up to the house, 
which looked like a country tenement house, for it 
was large and neglected, and one of the folding 
front doors stood open. They stepped up to the 
big piazza and knocked, and in an instant there was 
a scraping and barking in the hall as if a dozen dogs 
were after them. Dick and Hills were both brave 
enough, but the pace they made down the walk and 
through the front gate would have done them credit 
in a footrace. 

“ I see something moving up the road,” Hills 
exclaimed a moment later. “Just this side of that 
clump of bushes. But I’m afraid it ’s only a white 
cow.” 

“No, it’s not,” Dick shouted, looking in the direc- 
tion indicated. “ It ’s a white horse, and there ’s a 
buggy behind it, and of course there ’s somebody in 
the buggy. But it ’s turning off into another road. 
Hurry up, Hills; we’ll intercept it.” 

By cutting across a large open field they came out 
in another road ahead of the buggy, and in a moment 
they were within speaking distance of its occupant. 


' SHADOWING ” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 85 


“ Is this Port Monmouth, mister? ” Dick asked. 

There was no reply for a moment, and Dick 
repeated the question. 

“ Hello, Sumner ! what are you doing here?*’ came 
a voice from the buggy. “ Of course this is Port 
Monmouth ; and a beautiful little place it is, for a 
blind man. Don’t you know my voice ? I ’m 
Atwater of the Herald. I just drove up from 
Long Branch. How did you get here ? ” 

“ Hills of the World and I have just landed from 
a tug and been chased by dogs,” Dick laughed. 
“ We ’re looking for the telegraph office and the 
operator.” 

“ Don’t worry about that, my child,” Atwater said. 
“ I have the operator here in the buggy with me ; 
picked him up as I passed his house. Follow us, 
and we ’ll be at the telegraph office in a minute or 
two.” 

Dick and Hills followed the buggy, and soon the 
telegraph office was reached and opened. Each 
man reported himself to his office by wire in the 
same brief style : — 

Port Monmouth, N. J. 

The Daily Transport, New York : 

Arrived 11.30. Sumner. 

“ The operator tells me he knows nothing about 
the chief of police being here,” Atwater said, after 
the dispatches had been sent. 

“Nice situation, isn’t it?” Hills exclaimed — 


86 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“to hunt the chief in a charming Jersey town 
without a light, where everybody is asleep.” 

“ It won’t do to take any chances,” Dick said. 
“ How many houses are there in the town, 
Atwater ? ” 

“ About forty or fifty,” Atwater replied ; “ little bit 
of a place.” 

“ Then it seems to me the only way is to visit 
every house and make inquiries,” Dick suggested. 
“We can divide the town into sections, and that will 
give us each about fifteen houses to go to.” 

This heroic measure was agreed upon and the 
routes were laid out and the three reporters began 
the process of arousing every family in Port Mon- 
mouth. An hour later each one had rare stories to 
tell of encounters with dogs and threats of arrest 
and wordy combats with sleepy and irate house- 
holders. But there was no sign of the chief of 
police. The search had been so thorough that it 
was certain he was not in Port Monmouth. 

“It’s a false alarm,” Hills said in a disgusted 
tone. “ Fine work this, hunting a chief of police 
in a New Jersey forest.” 

“And there ’s an oyster supper a- cooking for me 
at home,” Dick added ; “ and here I am, hungry as 
a bear.” 

“Well, we can only send in ‘good-night’ and 
go to bed,” Atwater said sadly. “ I thought we 
were going to have a fine story. There ’s a 


“ SHADOWING ” THE CHIEF OF POLICE . 87 

little hotel here, and we can all go home in the 
morning.” 

Dick’s second dispatch was very brief. It merely 
said, like the dispatches of Hills and Atwater: 
“ Chief not been seen here. Good-night. Sum- 
ner.” The “ good-night ” was not a message of 
politeness, but a signal well understood in the office 
that Sumner had nothing more to send. 

“ I ’d like to know, Atwater,” Dick said when they 
were settling themselves in a big double-bedded 
room in the hotel, “ how you heard of this thing 
in Long Branch.” 

“Would you, sonny?” Atwater answered. He 
was very young himself, not more than two or three 
years older than Dick, and they had met several 
times before and had become well acquainted. 
“ Then I ’ll tell you. You must know that before I 
became a distinguished journalist I was an orna- 
ment to the telegraphic profession ; in other words, 
I was a country operator. Last evening I had 
some business in Long Branch, and while wait- 
ing in the station for the train to take me home, 
I heard the sounder say something about the 
chief of police. That made me prick up my ears 
and listen to the message going through. It 
was n’t intended for me, but it may have gone to 
a worse man. It said that the chief had come to 
Port Monmouth looking for Sterling’s body ; and 
the minute I heard that, I chartered a horse and 


88 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


buggy and drove up here. That unravels the mys- 
tery, does n’t it ? ” 

It did, and at the same time it gave Dick an 
idea. “ To understand telegraph operating,” he 
thought, “ must be a great advantage to a reporter. 
This case is an example of it. I must learn enough 
of it, at any rate, to send and receive a message.” 

“ Say, you fellows, dry up, will you?” Hill grunted 
from his bed. “ I want to go to sleep.” 

To return to the office with nothing, after his 
midnight voyage in the tug, was what Dick con- 
fidently expected. But he was not done with the 
great Sterling’s body case yet. 

Shortly after eight o’clock in the morning the 
three were awakened by a racket downstairs. They 
heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and a moment 
later their door burst open and Lawrence bounded 
into the room — Lawrence, the Transport man, who 
had been sent to cross from Staten Island in a sail- 
boat. He had reached Port Monmouth after day- 
light. 

“We’re going to have something to do yet, 
fellows,” he announced, after greeting the three in 
bed. “The chief is certainly somewhere in the 
State, though he ’s not in Port Monmouth. I ’ve 
just come from the telegraph office, and the operator 
tells me he is in New Jersey. He is trying to 
locate him for us.” 

About two hours later Lawrence entered again 


E SHADOWING ” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


89 


with further news. “I’ve found him,” he said. 
“ The chief went down to Shamong last night, and 
he ’s still there.” 

“ Shamong ? Where is Shamong ? ” 

“ Away down among the scrub pines. It ’s down 
below Manchester and Whiting’s, about a hundred 
and fifty miles from here.” 

Dick bounded out of bed ; he saw that there was 
probably more work before him. 

“ Say, Sumner,” Hills said, his eyes half-open, 
“get my instructions for me, will you, like a good 
fellow ? ” 

“Yes, and mine too,” Atwater echoed; “there’s 
no use of our all getting up at this unearthly 
hour.” 

It was a matter of pride to Dick that these older 
reporters should feel sure that he knew just 
what to do. He and Lawrence went down to the 
telegraph office, and Dick wrote three messages. 
One of them said : — 

Daily Transport, New York : — 

Chief of police is at Shamong. Send instructions. 

Sumner — Lawrence. 

The others were the same, but addressed one to 
the Herald and one to the World, with Atwater’s 
name signed to the first and the name of Hills to 
the other. 

Several hours passed before replies were received 


90 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


to these messages, and when they came Hills, At- 
water, and Lawrence were ordered home and Dick 
was instructed to “ go on to Shamong and find the 
chief.” 

That meant that Dick was to travel alone into the 
wilds of South Jersey in search of the chief and 
Mr. Sterling’s body. He was sorry to go alone, 
it was so much more pleasant to travel in good 
company ; but as far as the work was concerned he 
felt equal to it. Possibly, just possibly, the chief 
might have found the body or caught the thieves ; 
and that would be a tremendous piece of news. 

There was one difficulty about reaching Shamong, 
as he found by the time-table. The only train of 
the afternoon went as far as Whiting’s, fifteen miles 
north of Shamong, and stopp i there. The only 
chance was to go to Whiting’s nd hire a carriage 
there to take him on to Shamong. 

Daylight was fast changing into dusk when Dick’s 
train drew up at Whiting’s. His first step was to 
go into the telegraph office. “ When out of town, 
always keep your wires open,” Dr. Goode once had 
told him ; and he had often found the advice valuable. 

“ Please ask Shamong to keep open late for a 
Transport special,” he said to the operator. 

“ All right,” the operator answered. “ I think 
you ’ll have company down there too.” 

“What do you mean ?” Dick asked. 

“ Well, I can’t tell all I know,” the operator 


“ SHADOWING »’ THE CHIEF OF POLICE. Q 1 

replied ; “ but I think you ’ll not be the only re- 
porter in Shamong to-night.” 

“Oh, it’s like enough,” Dick laughed. “We 
generally travel in flocks. I wish you would tell me 
where I can find somebody to drive me down there.” 

“ Do you see that big white house with the green 
blinds?” and the operator pointed down the street. 
“That’s Dr. Townsend’s house. The doctor’s son 
has a horse and buggy for hire, and I guess he’ll 
drive you down.” 

But the doctor’s son, when Dick found him, 
seemed anything but anxious to drive to Shamong 
that night. The roads were bad, he said, and the 
night would be dark and his horse was lame and 
the buggy needed mending, and there were a dozen 
other excuses. The more Dick urged, the more 
excuses were made. 

“I ’ll drive you down there for five dollars,” the 
young man said at last ; and it was evident from his 
tone that he considered that so high a price that it 
would put an end to the matter. 

“Hitch him right up!” Dick answered. “I’m 
in a hurry to get there.” 

The young man went out and returned in a few 
minutes to say that the horse was ready. He went 
to a little stand in the room, opened the drawer 
and took out a very small revolver and made a great 
show of loading it. 

“ I never travel at night without being armed,” 


92 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


he said, evidently to convince Dick that it would be 
useless to try to murder and rob him on the road. 

“ It ’s a good plan,” Dick coolly replied ; “ neither 
do I.” 

That drive from Whiting’s to Shamong was an 
experience that Dick long remembered. The road 
was a mere track through the pine woods, with 
trees growing so close to the ruts that there was 
barely room for the passage of the buggy. The 
young man drove so fast that Dick expected every 
moment that one of the hubs would strike a tree 
and he be sent sprawling over the horse’s back. 
He reached Shamong safely, however, and went 
directly into the station and telegraph office, the 
only building in the little hamlet that showed any 
sign of life, except the hotel across the way. The 
livery bill was paid and the doctor’s son headed his 
horse for Whiting’s without waiting for further 
developments. 

“You’re looking for the chief, are you?” was 
the operator’s greeting to Dick as the latter stepped 
into the stuffy little office in which a dozen young 
countrymen with pipes and cigars in their mouths 
were gathered. “ Well, you ’ll have to go on five 
miles farther to find him, for he ’s out at Mr. Waite’s 
place.” 

“Five miles farther!” Dick exclaimed. “And 
who is Mr. Waite, and what is the chief doing at 
his place ? ” 


! SHADOWING ” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


93 


“ He’s an old friend of the chief,” the operator 
answered, “ and the chief comes out here to shoot 
birds with him every year. That ’s what he is doing 
here now, and you fellows are all on a wild-goose 
chase. I Ve had telegrams from about a dozen 
reporters to keep open for late specials, but you 
won’t have any specials to send. He’s not look- 
ing for anybody’s body out here, he ’s shooting 
birds. There ’s one of his guides sitting on the 
table; the man in the big hat. You can ask him.” 

Dick immediately began to question the guide, 
and it did not take him long to find that the op- 
erator was telling the truth. There was no news to 
be had, for the chief was only taking a little holiday 
instead of hunting grave-robbers. He crossed over 
to the hotel and talked with the landlord, and there 
the bird-shooting story was confirmed. It was a 
tame ending to a long hunt, but there was no help 
for it. Dick returned to the Telegraph office and 
he was hardly inside when one of the loungers 
exclaimed : — 

“ There ’s a locomotive coming up the road ! ” 

Sure enough, there was the headlight staring 
them in the face. The occupants of the office ran 
out to the platform just in time to see the engine 
stop. 

The young man who sprang from the engine 
before it came to a full stop was the Philadelphia 
correspondent of The New York Herald. He had 


94 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


heard by telegraph of the chiefs visit to Shamong, 
and as there was no train he had chartered the loco- 
motive to carry him to the spot. While he stood 
talking to the operator, learning just what Dick had 
learned, three carriages drove up, and several re- 
porters whom Dick knew ascended the station steps. 
There were five of them, four from the principal 
morning newspapers of New York, and one from 
The Philadelphia Age. These men had all been sent 
out in trains that carried them to Manchester, a little 
town on another railroad about ten miles away, and 
there they had taken carriages and started post- 
haste for Shamong, arriving all together. 

It was amusing to Dick to see this congregation 
of reporters, numbering seven now, and no news 
for them to gather. He was in position to stand by 
and see the others work, for he had been over the 
ground thoroughly. But the businesslike way in 
which some of them went to work made him a little 
uneasy. They seemed to know just the people to 
inquire for ; and perhaps their information might 
be better than his, after all. It was a place for him 
to keep his eyes and ears open, at any rate. 

“Where can I find Mr. Peter Smith ?” was 
one of the first questions asked by the Herald 
correspondent. 

“ I want to see Dave Hardy,” one of^ the others 
said to the operator ; “ where does he live ? ” 

It was a relief to Dick when he found that Peter 


'SHADOWING” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


95 


Smith was the hotel keeper with whom he had 
already talked, and that Dave Hardy was the guide. 
The. men separated, each one working in his own 
way ; but in a few minutes they were all back in the 
telegraph office ; and all had found out just what 
Dick knew before, that the chief was only out on 
a pleasure excursion. 

While there was news in prospect, these seven 
newspaper men had held aloof from one another; 
each was suspicious of the others, and each pre- 
ferred to make his own inquiries without any con- 
fidence. But now that the work was over, with no 
chance of anybody “ beating” the others, they were 
all the best of friends, and as jolly companions as 
a lot of schoolboys just let out for recess. 

“ It would be folly for us to drive five miles out 
to see the chief,” the Herald man said, “when we 
know that he is not here on business. Anyhow he 
could n’t do anything without coming here to the 
station and telegraph office. There ’s nothing for 
us to do but telegraph the facts in a few words and 
go to bed. I Ve sent my engine back ; it ’s too 
expensive a luxury to keep.” 

“That’s all we can do,” echoed the World man, 
“ as far as business goes. But I have a important 
duty to perform. My stomach has been on strike 
for the last three or four hours, and I ’m going over 
to the hotel to order some supper. Any of you 
fellows want to eat?” 


96 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Yes, yes, yes ! ” burst from six other throats. 
“ We all want to eat. We ’re starving, every one of 
us. Order suppers for seven, Mr. World, to be 
ready in half an hour. Don’t forget the raw 
oysters and broiled lobsters and about fourteen 
Welsh rarebits.” 

“You ’ll be lucky if you get ham and eggs,” said 
the Tribune man, who knew the ways of country 
hotels. “But they’ll have some bottled Bass. 
Let’s see; seven of us, are there? Have them put 
fourteen bottles of Bass on ice, World.” 

“None for me,” Dick interrupted; “ I don’t want 
any Bass.” 

“ Twelve bottles then ; ” and the World man 
disappeared to arrange for the suppers, while the 
others sat down on tables and boxes to write their 
brief dispatches. 

The loungers about the telegraph office, all 
greatly interested in the scene, did not quite know 
what to make of these seven newspaper men. 
Half an hour before they had avoided one another, 
had little to say, and seemed to be at swords’ points ; 
and now here they were chatting in the most friendly 
way, as if they were all old friends, and ordering 
suppers together. 

While they were writing, the Age man touched 
Dick lightly upon the knee and inclined his head 
toward the door in a way that meant an invitation 
to come out. He was hardly older than Dick, the 


‘ SHADOWING ” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


97 


Age man ; but he had much more to say, and was 
inclined to be boisterous in his manner. Dick fol- 
lowed him out to the platform. 

“You he from the Transport, ain’t you ? ” the Age 
reporter asked when they were alone outside. 

“ Yes,” Dick replied. 

“ Well, I ’ll put you up to a good thing, if you ’ll 
take my advice. There ’s no reason why we should 
n’t have a sensation out of this business. Let the 
other fellows telegraph home that the chief is only 
shooting birds, but you and I can do better. We 
can get up a column apiece about the chief’s mys- 
terious movements down here, and tell how he’s 
supposed to be shadowing the thieves and to be on 
the track of the body. I don’t want to do it alone ; 
but if it ’s in both the Age and the Transport, that 
will give it an appearance of truth, and we ’ll have 
a beat on all the other fellows. Your people won’t 
like your coming home without sending any copy.” 

It was the first time that Dick had ever had such 
a proposition made to him, and he was indignant. 

“ My people would rather have me come home a 
hundred times without copy than send them a story 
that was not true,” he answered. “ I like a sensa- 
tion, but I want it to be a real one ; not one that I 
make myself. They trust me to tell the truth when 
they send me out, and I intend to do it.” 

“ Humbug ! ” the Age man sneered. “ Do you 
think the Transport always tells the truth ? ” 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ As far as I know it does,” Dick answered. “ I 
know its reporters pretty well, and I don’t believe 
there is a man in the office who would knowingly 
send in a false report. I know that I would n’t 
for one.” 

The Age man said something about Dick being 
“ too good for a newspaper man ” as they returned 
to the office and finished up their dispatches, but 
Dick did not care to reply. He was sure of his 
ground ; and it was almost with satisfaction that he 
noticed afterwards that the other reporters avoided 
the Age man — not on account of the proposition 
he had made, for Dick said nothing about that, but 
because they were able to read him through and 
through almost instantly, and saw that he was a man 
to be avoided. 

This is a faculty that comes quickly to a bright 
reporter, and it had come already to Dick to a 
degree that sometimes startled him. From talking 
with scores of new men every day — men who often 
had something to conceal or something to exagger- 
ate or something to distort — he had learned to read 
a man’s heart and brain almost the instant he set 
eyes upon him. 

“That Tribune man is a prophet,” somebody 
exclaimed at supper. “ He said ham and eggs, and 
ham and eggs it is. But they ’re wonderfully better 
than nothing.” 

It was a surprise to Dick that nobody said a word 


SHADOWING” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


99 


to him about drinking ale while they were eating. 
All the others drank it and after supper smoked 
cigars, but Dick neither drank nor smoked. Instead 
of being urged, he was left to follow his own incli- 
nations. And the best men in the party, he was 
glad to notice, treated him like a professional equal. 
Some of the men there were favorably known in 
every newspaper office in New York, and Dick had 
often heard of them. He was too modest even to 
think that it was because he had attended to his 
work faithfully and well, without bluster or boasting, 
that these men liked him ; but that was the reason. 
They read him as easily as they read the Age man, 
but with different results. 

Dick and the World man were quartered in the 
same room for the night, for the little hotel had not 
seven sleeping rooms to spare. 

“I’m afraid it looked unsociable not to take a 
glass of ale or a cigar with the rest at supper,” 
Dick said before they went to sleep ; “ but I have 
made up my mind neither to drink nor smoke, and 
I could n’t break my resolution.” 

“ Unsociable ! ” his companion repeated ; “ why, 
you were one of the jolliest fellows in the party ! 
There ’s nothing unsociable about not drinking ale 
when you don’t want it. The talk about drinking 
for sociability’s sake is very much in your eye, Sum- 
ner. When a man drinks it ’s because he wants the 
stimulant, not because he wants to be sociable. 


IOO 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


That was why I drank the ale, and I ’ll warrant it 
was the same with all the other fellows.” 

“Well, it was very kind in you all not to urge 
me to drink or smoke when I did n’t want to,” 
Dick said. 

“ No ; you ’re mistaken ! ” the World man re- 
torted, resting his head upon his hand, and his 
elbow on the pillow. “ Excuse me ; but I’m a 
much older man than you, Sumner, and I know 
these things better. Reporters are supposed to 
have some sense, and a sensible man never urges a 
fellow to drink who does n’t want to. When a man 
tries to urge you against your will, it is safe to set 
that man down for a fool. 

“Not only that,” he went on, “but it’s only a 
softshell who could be induced to drink when he 
did n’t want to. Such a man would hardly have 
brains enough to make a good reporter, and I hear 
you ’re a pretty good one, Sumner. No, sir ! I 
take my share of drinks, I ’ll admit, but if I did n’t 
want one, I should like to see the man who could 
induce me to take it ; and I should have a very poor 
opinion of any man who tried, too. However, it ’s 
after midnight, and the early train goes at six ; ” and 
the World man, totally disregarding the hygienic 
principles that he often wrote paragraphs about, 
drew his head completely under the covers. 

Dick thought that he had just fallen asleep for a 
moment, though in reality he had slept for several 


SHADOWING” THE CHIEF OF POLICE. 


IOI 


hours, when at half-past five the red-haired, freckle- 
faced boy of the hotel made a tremendous racket 
with his knuckles against the doors of the reporters’ 
rooms. 

“Wake up, gents,” he shouted. “The chief of 
police is over at the station, waitin’ for the early 
train ! ” 

In five minutes the reporters were all at the 
station with the chief, and he was joking them about 
their wild-goose chase. 

“ I ’m glad I got the better of you once, boys,” 
he laughed; “ but it was accidental. It would take 
a smarter man than I am to fool you fellows on 
purpose. I ’m too smart to try it, anyhow.” 

In the ride back to New York Dick became 
well acquainted with the chief of police, and the 
acquaintance often proved valuable to him after- 
wards. When he reached the office he gave the 
city editor a full account of his adventures. 

“ It often happens,” the editor said as he laughed 
with Dick over his odd experiences, “ that the 
reporter’s adventures in gathering news would make 
a more interesting article than the news he goes 
after ; but we seldom print the reporter’s side of it. 
However, I think we will make an exception in this 
case and let you write us a special about your expe- 
riences ki hunting Sterling’s body. Make it about a 
column and a half. We pay extra, of course, for 
breezy specials.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. 

HE opportunity to write this “ special ” was 



-*• a great relief to Dick ; for, notwithstanding 
his success in a professional way, he found it hard 
to make both ends meet. The writing of one 
amounted to little, but he knew that one would 
open the way for more. 

There were scores of little expenses that he had 
not counted upon, and the support of the family 
devolved mainly upon him. He was proud of this, 
even though it did take his last cent every week. 
Then there was the twenty-five dollars he owed 
Randall, which he felt must be paid off soon ; and 
he was in need of newer and better clothes. The 
Russellville clothes did very well while he was doing 
small work in the office, for the men he met on these 
little jobs were dressed no better than he ; but in 
the class of work he was doing now it was 
different. 

He was constantly meeting the best reporters in 
New York, men who made a great deal of money, 
and who wore the best clothes they could buy, and 
carried fine watches, and often wore expensive dia- 
monds. Dick cared very little for the diamonds and 


102 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE . 


103 


jewelry, but he wanted to present as good an appear- 
ance as his associates. Occasional specials would 
help him wonderfully in this and a hundred other 
things, for they paid ten dollars a column ; and he 
knew that if he had any sort of success with them 
they would almost double his pay. 

He did not know, of course, that the chance to 
write specials was an arrangement that had been made 
expressly to give him more money, growing out of 
a conversation between Dr. Goode and the city 
editor. 

“ Sumner’s work is always good,” the night editor 
had said. “ I never feel any anxiety about an 
assignment when it is in his hands. You ought 
to increase his salary, for he is doing some of his 
best work in the office.” 

“ Yes, he is,” the city editor had replied. “ He has 
made a remarkable record so far. I don’t know of 
any young man who has taken hold as he has. It 
seems to be intuitive with him to know a piece of 
news when he sees it, and there is no limit to his 
energy. The best of him is that although he must 
know he is doing unusually good work, it does n’t 
spoil him. He is just as ready to go out on a small 
affair as a big one. But you know I make it a rule 
not to raise a new man’s salary in the first six 
months. However, I can make it up to him by 
giving him specials to write and in other ways, to 
give him more money. He must have more, of 


104 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


course. He does n’t seem to think of anything but 
his work; no poker games on his mind, no billiards, 
no little club rooms, no rum, nothing but solid hard 
work.” 

“ Such men must be encouraged,” the doctor 
laughed; “for they’re not plenty.” 

Ignorant of all this, Dick took his few spare hours 
to write his first special, sitting up several times long 
after Darling reached home. 

“ It ’s a jolly place to write, here in the dining- 
room,” he said one night when Darling came in at 
half-past two ; “after the folks are in bed. The light 
is so good, too. Somehow I never could take any 
pleasure in reading or writing at night when I lived 
in a furnished room, because the gas was always so 
dim.” 

“ Did n’t any of the fellows tell you how to 
manage that?” Darling laughed. “Of course you 
never could get a fair light in a furnished room, 
because the landladies plug up the tips of the 
burners. That lets only a little gas through, and 
saves bills, you know. You should have bought 
a burner of your own and a pair of nippers, and 
unscrewed the landlady’s burner when you wanted 
to read or write, and put your own on. That ’s the 
way all the boys do.” 

“ Maybe you do that in your room here,” Dick 
suggested with a twinkle in his eye. 

“ I don’t have to, Dick,’’ Darling replied. “ There 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. 105 

are no mean tricks about that mother of yours — 
nor your sister either,” he added, and then blushed 
a little because Dick smiled. 

There was no doubt of Dick’s ability to write 
a good special after his first one appeared. It was 
not merely a correct account of his experiences in 
looking for the chief of police and Sterling’s body ; 
all the details were truthfully given, but they were 
given in such a way as to bring out every funny 
point to the best advantage. It was a comical 
article from beginning to end, and Dick was set 
down for a humorist as well as an accurate reporter 
of facts. There was some glory in this, and some 
profit, too ; for thereafter most of the subjects that 
might be turned into humorous specials were handed 
over to Dick. 

“ I want you to run up to Saratoga,” the city 
editor said to him one day after he had been long 
enough in the flat to pay a second month’s rent. 
“You can go up to-night, do the work to-morrow, 
and come back to-morrow night. I have had 
several reports about unfair dealings among the 
bookmakers, and I want you to go out to the 
race track and investigate for yourself. Make full 
inquiries ; and after you have all your facts go to 
Hyer, the leading bookmaker, tell him just what 
reports we have heard, and ask him what he has 
to say about it.” 

Dick had never ridden before in such a train as 


io6 


THE YOUNG EE POE TEE. 


carried him to Saratoga that night. It was one of 
the famous “Saratoga Specials,” made up of a dozen 
parlor cars and drawn by two powerful engines. 
Leaving New York at six in the evening it set him 
down in Saratoga before midnight, and he slept in a 
gorgeous room in the Grand Union Hotel, with 
music playing on the balcony and colored lights 
flashing across the fountain in the courtyard. 

It seemed to him next day as if half of New York 
had migrated to Saratoga. He knew a great many 
people in the city, and almost every other man he 
met he was sure he had seen before. Many of 
them he knew, and some of these were of great 
assistance to him in making his investigations. He 
did a hard day’s work, but after all it amounted to 
nothing, for he could discover nothing irregular in 
the bookmaker’s methods. 

He still had Mr. Hyer, the chief bookmaker, to 
see, and it was nearly six o’clock in the evening 
before he found him in the lobby of the hotel. 
None of your vulgar, horsey, gambler-looking men 
was Mr. Hyer, with flashy clothes and showy 
jewelry ; but a most respectable-appearing man, so 
quiet in dress and manner that he might readily 
have been mistaken for a clergyman. Dick stepped 
up and introduced himself and asked for a few 
moments’ conversation. 

“We had better go into this little writing room,” 
said Mr. Hyer, “ where we can talk without inter- 


I/O IV DICK SPURNED A BRIBE . 


107 


ruption ; ” and he led the way into a cozy little 
room with a beautiful table in the centre and the 
softest of chairs on each side. 

There was no hesitation on Dick’s part now about 
talking to strangers. It was an old story with him, 
and he felt as much at home with a man he had 
never seen before as with an old friend. Certainly 
he had never talked with a more polite or more 
agreeable man than Mr. Hyer. 

Dick told the bookmaker what reports had reached 
the Transport office about unfair methods on the 
race track, and Mr. Hyer listened with great attention. 

“ It is very kind of you,” he said when Dick con- 
cluded his story, “ to come directly to me with these 
reports, instead of publishing them first and inves- 
tigating afterward. But that is quite like the Trans- 
port’s way of doing ; they have always treated me 
with the greatest fairness. These reports have been 
circulated by enemies of mine who seek to do me 
harm, and I can show you in a few words that they 
are utterly unfounded.” 

He went on in the smoothest manner to give 
Dick a detailed account of his methods of doing 
business, and made everything appear as fair and 
honorable as a transaction in real estate. He was 
very earnest about it, too ; for the publication of 
even a hint of unfairness in his dealings would have 
done him immense damage and cost him thousands 
of dollars. 


io8 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ I think 1 have made everything clear to you,” 
he said in conclusion. “ You see for yourself that 
there can be no possible foundation for these libel- 
ous attacks. And now,” he went on, his hand mov- 
ing down toward his trowsers pocket, “ you have 
been at a good deal of trouble and expense to come 
up here and make this investigation. Besides, you 
have dealt fairly with me in coming directly to me, 
and I like to do well by those who do well by me. 
Just slip this into your pocket.” 

Mr. Hyer’s hand was on the table close by Dick’s 
when he finished speaking, and “this” was a great 
roll of greenbacks that he tried to thrust under 
Dick’s palm. It was a roll that a man could hardly 
close his fingers around. 

“ Oh, no, sir ! ” Dick exclaimed, hastily drawing 
back his hand. The hot blood mounted to his face, 
and he would have made some forcible remarks if 
Mr. Hyer had not been so extremely polite and 
gentlemanly. “ No, sir. It is the Transport that 
pays the expense and pays me for my trouble.” 

“Yes, of course; I understand that,” Mr. Hyer 
replied ; “ but this is altogether outside of business 
matters. You have done me a kindness, and I 
merely want to return a favor. You need have no 
hesitation in accepting this trifling gift. Of course it 
will not influence you in the least in what you write.” 

The gentlemanly, smooth-tongued gambler still 
held the roll of notes within easy reach. 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. 


IO9 


Dick was on the point of flaring up and exclaim- 
ing, “Do you take me for a thief, sir?” but how 
could he do it with such a gentle, suave man as 
Mr. Hyer ? Perhaps it was really meant only as a 
kindness, without any intention to bribe him. Still 
he could not trust himself to say much. 

“It is impossible ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Oh, well, don’t let me annoy you with urging it 
upon you,” said Hyer, drawing back his hand. 
“ I thought a little money might be useful to you ; 
but no matte # r. At any rate, let us crack a bottle of 
wine together. Do you prefer Mumm or Heid- 
seick? ” 

“ I do not drink wine, thank you,” Dick replied. 
“ And I see it is nearly seven o’clock, so I shall 
barely have time to eat dinner and catch the 
evening train.” 

He pushed back his chair and took a step toward 
the open door, and the gambler followed. 

“You see, Mr. Sumner,” he said — and he re- 
peated some of his former arguments — “ I am sure 
that a fair-minded man like yourself will see that 
my business is conducted on an entirely honorable 
basis.” 

They were just within the door of the small 
room, and the great lobby of the hotel, into which 
the door opened, was crowded with guests recently 
returned from the races. Mr. Hyer had his left 
hand upon Dick’s right sleeve, as though to 


I IO 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


emphasize his words, and his right hand still held 
the fat roll of notes. 

“ So good-night, Mr. Sumner.” 

While the gambler was uttering the words Dick 
felt a pressure upon his vest pocket, and instinct- 
ively clapped his hand upon the spot. There was 
the roll of notes stuck endwise into his pocket, and 
Mr. Hyer had disappeared in the crowd. 

It was plain enough what that meant. Hyer had 
forced the money upon him, against his will, in the 
hope of influencing his report. 

For a second or two Dick was dazed, and the 
righteous anger showed in every feature of his face. 
He looked anxiously in every direction, but the 
gambler had vanished utterly. 

“ Mr. Hyer ! ” he called. Of course there was 
no answer ; but several gentlemen idling near by 
looked at Dick in surprise to see any one in such 
an excited state in that abode of luxury and 
pleasure. 

Dick took the roll of notes from his pocket and 
held it in his hand. To throw it upon the table and 
leave it there was his first impulse ; but a second’s 
consideration showed him that that would be foolish. 
Some one would of course pick it up, and he would 
have no proof that he had not kept it. 

“ If only there was some one with me ! ” he said 
to himself. But there was no one, and he must 
make his own way out of the difficulty. He stepped 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. 


I I I 


back into the little room and sat down in his old 
chair, still holding the roll in his hand, for he would 
not have it in his pocket. Never had a roll of 
money looked so utterly detestable to him before ; 
it was an unclean thing, and he loathed it. 

For a moment he sat there bending over the 
table, torn with anger and doubt ; not doubt 
whether he should keep the money, but how he 
should rid himself of it. It would not have been 
Dick Sumner, however, to remain in such a con- 
dition long. 

“ Of course!” he exclaimed, straightening up in 
his chair, “ it is plain enough what I must do ; but 
I declare I was so mad for a minute that I did n’t 
know what I was about. I must go to some respect- 
able person and tell him the whole story, and put 
the money in his hands to be returned to that 
smooth-tongued fellow. Mr. Clair is my man — 
Mr. Clair, the proprietor of the hotel. It ’s fortunate 
I met him this morning and had a talk with him.” 

Dick made his way across the crowded lobby to 
Mr. Clair’s office, still carrying the roll in his hand 
and holding his hand far out from his body ; he 
would not have the money near him. The door was 
partly open and he stepped inside. 

“Mr. Clair, can I speak with you a moment?” 
he asked. 

“ Certainly. Come in and take a chair. Why, 
what is wrong? You look ill, Mr. Sumner;” and 


I 12 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


he arose from his chair and helped Dick into a 
comfortable seat. 

“ No, sir ; I am quite well,” Dick answered. 
“ But I am afraid that I am rather excited. Will 
you do me the favor to take this roll of money and 
count it, Mr. Clair?” And he held out his hand 
and the great hotel proprietor took the money. 
Dick felt better the moment it was out of his 
hands. 

“Ten, twenty, thirty, forty” — Mr. Clair said, 
unrolling the money and counting it ; “ two hun- 
dred and thirty, two hundred and forty, two hundred 
and fifty. Just two hundred and fifty dollars here, 
Mr. Sumner. You must have picked a winner at 
the races this afternoon, I think.” 

“No, sir!” Dick exclaimed. “That money was 
stuffed into my pocket against my will by Mr. Hyer, 
the bookmaker. It will be a great favor to me if 
you will seal it up and see that it is returned to him, 
for I cannot handle it again.” 

Then in reply to Mr. Clair’s inquiring looks he 
went on and told the whole story ; what his business 
was with Mr. Hyer, and how he had refused the 
money over and over, and how Mr. Hyer had at 
length forced it into his pocket and disappeared in 
the crowd. 

“ I don’t think I ever had anything to hurt me 
quite as much, Mr. Clair,” he said in concluding. 
“To think the man should take me for a thief! 


HOW DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. 


J 3 


That he could imagine I would go back to the office, 
and home to my mother and sister, with a roll of 
stolen money in my pocket ! Worse than stolen ! 
Why, I might better put my hand in your money 
drawer than take it in such a way as — as ” — 

The recital of the story brought the hot blood to 
Dick’s head again. Finding himself unable to finish 
the sentence, he turned away his head. 

“ Never mind, my boy.” Mr. Clair got up and 
shut the door, and laid his hand kindly on Dick’s 
shoulder. “ Don’t take it too hard. You must 
make allowances for the man you were dealing with. 
Perhaps he has met reporters who were willing to 
listen to such arguments. Indeed, I have met some 
myself who would not have been a bit alarmed at 
finding two hundred and fifty dollars in their pockets. 
But not from the great New York papers,” he added, 
noticing Dick’s look of surprise. “ No, I must say 
that for them. It is only with the small fry.” 

“You give me more confidence in human nature, 
at any rate,” Mr. Clair went on. “ I have to deal 
with thousands and tens of thousands of people 
here, and my experience often leads me to doubt 
whether there is a single honest man in the world. 
But there is one, I ’ll swear to it, and I am glad to 
know him. I know you better than you think, for 
a hotel keeper, like a reporter, must learn to read 
a man’s heart by the outward signs. Some time 
you may be in need of a friend, my boy ; when that 


I 14 the young reporter . 

day comes, call on Henry Clair. Come in and eat 
dinner with me.” 

On the way home in the train that night Dick 
concluded that he would say nothing in the office 
about the attempt to bribe him. There was nothing 
in the episode that he could reproach himself with, 
and yet the mere offer of a bribe to him seemed to 
him to involve some disgrace. There must have 
been something in his manner, he was afraid, that 
led the gambler to believe that he could be bought ; 
and the thought worried him. He had nothing 
to write ; before he saw Mr. Hyer he had made up 
his mind that no unfairness could be proved, how- 
ever strong the suspicion might be. The gambler’s 
effort at bribery convinced him that something was 
wrong, and he would have been delighted to make 
an exposure ; but he had no facts to go upon. 

Some unimportant matter was given him to 
investigate in the morning, and when he returned 
to the office about the middle of the afternoon Dick 
was startled by a word from the city editor : — 

“ Mr. Harding has been inquiring for you, 
Sumner. I think he is disengaged now, and you 
had better go into his room.” 

Mr. Harding, the editor-in-chief ! In his months 
in the office Dick had not set foot in the real editor’s 
room, and had seen him only two or three times. 
A few months before he would have thought nothing 
of such a summons, for he was accustomed to 


HO W DICK SPURNED A BRIBE . I I 5 

talking with Mr. Davis, the editor of The Russellville 
Record. But he had learned what a great man the 
editor of a big New York paper is, at least in his 
own office ; how autocratic, how unapproachable, 
how weirdly, wonderfully imposing, a summons from 
the editor-in-chief sets even the managing editor in 
a flutter! 

“ Come in, Sumner,” was Mr. Harding’s greeting. 
He spoke very pleasantly Dick thought, for so great 
a man ; but his manner was quick and decided, as 
though he had many reputations to make or mar 
before sunset. “You have been up at Saratoga, 
have you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” Dick answered, “ I went up about” — 

“No matter! Never mind what about; Mr. 
Brown will attend to that. And you had a peculiar 
experience up there, did you ? ” 

Dick started. How could Mr. Harding have 
heard of his peculiar experience, when he had not 
mentioned it to a soul in the office ? 

“ Yes, sir,” he answered, “ I had a very unpleas- 
ant experience.” 

“ Sit down here and tell me all about it, but 
briefly, briefly.” And as the editor pointed to a 
chair Dick wondered how he could find time to 
listen to so small a matter, with such an awful col- 
lection of letters and manuscript and proofs piled 
before him. “Never mind the news part. Who 
was it offered you the money ? ” 


Il6 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

“ Mr. Hyer, sir,” Dick replied ; and in as few 
words as possible he described the circumstances. 

“ H’m, Hyer ! I thought so. Then the charges 
against him are true. Bribery is always a confes- 
sion of weakness, Mr. Sumner. I have a letter 
here from my friend Clair that will interest you ; 
you may read it.” 

Wonderingly, Dick took the letter the editor 
handed him, and read : — 

Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga Springs. 

My dear Mr. Harding , — If it will not violate any of your 
office rules, I shall be greatly obliged if you will hand the enclosed 
check for $250 to your young reporter who was here to-day, Mr. 
Richard Sumner, as a slight token of my admiration and esteem. 

Mr. Sumner came to me for assistance when an attempt was 
made to bribe him to suppress news. The money had been 
forced into his pocket, and he put it at once in my hands to be 
returned to the owner. 

He was so heartbroken over the affair, so grieved that even an 
attempt of the sort should be made that it really did me good to 
see him. I owe him something for the new sensation he gave 
me, and this little check will not nearly pay the bill. 

Sincerely yours, Henry Clair. 

“ Bother those blushes of mine ! ” Dick said to 
himself as he read the letter. “ Why in the world 
is it that the blood always rushes to my head and 
makes me blush like a girl when anything 
excites me ? ” 

“ It is very kind in Mr. Clair, sir,” he said as he 
handed the letter back to the editor ; “ but ” — 


x HO W DICK SPURNED A BRIBE. I I 7 

“ Of course not,” Mr. Harding interrupted. “ It 
is not to be thought of. Here is the check ; send 
it back to Mr. Clair yourself with my compliments 
and regrets. That is all, Mr. Sumner.” 

It seemed to Dick that his dismissal was rather 
curt, but he was not used yet to the ways of great 
editors with young reporters. He was barely out 
of the room when a bell tapped. 

Any Transport man would have known that it 
was the editor-in-chiefs bell without hearing it. 
The movements of the office boy on duty would 
have made that plain. At a tap of the editor-in- 
chief’s bell the office boy flies, because a nod from 
the great man will put a new boy in his place. For 
the managing editor’s bell he moves with some 
celerity, for the managing editor is his immediate 
boss. The city editor’s bell summons him usually, 
when it is struck hard and the tap is repeated. 
When a reporter calls he is deeply engrossed in 
affairs of his own. This time it was the bell of the 
editor-in-chief, and the boy flew past Dick to 
answer the summons. 

“ Mr. Brown,” the editor said to the boy ; 
and in a twinkling Mr. Brown stood before his 
chief. 

“What are you paying Sumner, Mr. Brown?” 
the editor asked. 

“ Fifteen dollars a week, sir.” 

“ He ’s the man who did the Sing Sing story, 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


1 1 8 

is n’t he ? And that humorous account of the search 
for Sterling’s body ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You may raise him to forty dollars, beginning 
with this week.” 

“ Very well, sir.” 

That was all ; the deed was done. If the Czar of 
Russia had ordered the beheading of one of his 
subjects, the order could not have been obeyed more 
promptly. A newspaper office is an absolute mon- 
archy, and the editor-in-chief is the monarch, par- 
ticularly when, as is the case with the Transport, the 
editor is also the principal owner. He distributes 
his favors or his frowns according to his own sweet 
will. If he had said, “ I do not like Sumner’s work, 
let him go,” Dick’s career in that office would have 
come to an untimely end. The city editor makes 
rules for his reporters, but the editor-in-chief sweeps 
them away with a breath when he chooses. 

“Very well, sir,” said the city editor; and from 
that moment Dick’s salary was forty dollars a week, 
besides the ten dollars or more extra that he could 
make by writing specials. 


CHAPTER VII. 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY* 

R. GOODE took pains to have a talk with 



Dick a few nights after his unexpected 
increase of salary. 

“I’m not going to congratulate you on your good 
fortune, Sumner,” he said, “ till I see whether it is 
a good thing for you or the opposite. It may prove 
to be the worst thing that ever happened you, 
though I hope not. It all depends upon yourself. 
You have made a brilliant beginning, and I think 
you are sure to hold out if you keep yourself in 
check. 

“Above all things, don’t let the size of your head 
increase ; don’t ‘ get a swelled head,’ as the boys 
say. Your falling into favor with the old man is 
more accident than anything else.” 

Dick had often heard that expression used before. 
The editor-in-chief is generally called “ the old man,” 
even when he happens to be one of the youngest 
men in the office. 

“It’s not because you are such a tremendous 
fellow that you have been advanced in this way,” the 
doctor went on. “You have done good work, but 
other men do good work too. Your refusing to take 


120 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


a bribe in Saratoga I take no account of at all ; that 
was a matter of course. I should be sorry to think 
you could have done anything else. In the ordinary 
course of events, after the good work you have done, 
you would have been raised in a few months to per- 
haps twenty-five dollars a week, and then a little 
higher after a year or so. But the old man has 
taken a fancy to you and your work, and pushed 
you ahead with a jump. That thing happens some- 
times, and I am glad that it has happened to you. 
But don’t take too much of the credit to yourself. 
It is luck, chance, fate, providence, whatever you 
choose to call it ; your own merit has precious little 
to do with it. 

“ Though it has something, I ’ll admit,” he con- 
tinued, laying his hand, as he had done before, on 
Dick’s knee. “The old man must have been 
pleased with some of your articles, as we all were. 
But be careful of yourself ; more careful now than 
ever. You know what the prince’s smile means to 
the courtier. Your position in the office is better 
than it has been, for the prince is known to have 
smiled upon you. But hold your horses.” 

It did not take long for Dick to find that to be in 
favor with “ the old man ” was to be in favor with 
everybody in the office. The office boys kept fresh 
mucilage constantly in the bottle on his desk, and 
there are few stronger signs of good standing in a 
newspaper office than that. He was often given 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A TAMIL Y. I 2 I 


special work that was not scheduled on the assign- 
ment list at all, with orders to report to the manag- 
ing editor or the editor-in-chief ; and as this work 
seldom kept him late at night, he had more time to 
enjoy the delights of the new flat. His clothes 
were as good now as any reporter could desire, he 
carried a watch, the last of his debt to Randall was 
paid, and he had a small bank account. Dick was 
happy, not only because of these things, but because 
he was thoroughly in love with his work, as every 
successful reporter must be. 

“ You don’t have to go out again to-night, do 
you, Dick ? ” his mother asked as he lay comfort- 
ably stretched out on a sofa after the meal that was 
the family’s supper, but Dick’s dinner. 

“ Yes, I must go back to the office,” he answered ; 
“but I don’t know of anything to keep me late 
to-night.” 

“You’re working too hard, Dick,” his mother 
went on ; “ too hard and too much at night. 

You ’ve grown taller since you came to New York, 
but you ’re much thinner and paler. Where are 
those beautiful roses you used to have in your 
cheeks ? ” 

“Oh, bother the roses, mother,” Dick laughed; 
“ they ’ve washed off, I suppose, like the printer’s 
ink I used to have on my hands. And I don’t see 
why night work should hurt me. You know what 
Dr. Goode says : ‘ It ’s not working at night that 


THE YOU MG REPORTER. 


122 

hurts a man, but playing at night.’ I don’t do much 
playing by day or night. I get my pleasure out of 
my work, and that pays better. I ’ll run down to the 
office, and I ’m pretty sure I can be home by ten 
o’clock. Then I ’ll have just the best night’s sleep 
you ever saw, for I do feel a little tired.” 

With this idea in his mind Dick went down to the 
office, and the city editor’s greeting upset all his 
plans not only for that evening, but for many 
evenings to come. 

“ Sumner,” Mr. Brown asked, “ how soon can 
you be ready to sail for Mexico ? ” 

It was a blow to Dick in some respects and a 
pleasant surprise in others ; but he promptly 
answered : — 

“ I ’m ready now, sir.” 

“ Well,” Mr. Brown said, smiling at Dick’s readi- 
ness to start for anywhere at a moment’s notice, 
“ there is n’t any steamer going just at this minute ; 
but there’s one at noon to-morrow that you can 
take. It is one of Mr. Harding’s jobs, and he will 
give you instructions when he comes in at nine 
o’clock. You are to interview President Diaz for 
him ; and we prefer to have you go by steamer 
rather than by rail, because that will give you a 
chance to touch at Cuba and some other points and 
write us some descriptive letters.” 

“ I will give you an order for money to cover 
your expenses,” Mr. Brown continued, “ and we can 


DICK LANDS IK MEXICO WITH A FAMILY. I 23 

send your salary to your family while you are away, 
if you like. You will be able to give us some good 
letters from Cuba and Mexico.” 

Dick was sure of that. Summer had changed to 
fall, and fall was rapidly turning into winter; and to 
visit the tropics in winter, to go out of the cold 
and slush of New York into a region of eternal 
summer, was something that he had dreamed of, but 
hardly hoped ever to realize. 

“ President Diaz speaks English fluently,” Mr. 
Harding told him when he arrived, “ so you will 
have no trouble on that score. Of course the 
language of the country is Spanish. Here is a letter 
of introduction to the American minister in Mexico 
that will open the way for you. 

The good night’s sleep that Dick had arranged 
to have did not come. A large part of the night 
was spent in packing and making ready, and when 
at length he got to bed he had too many things to 
think of to fall asleep. 

“ Remember that you are all we have, Dick,” his 
mother sobbed when she bade him good-by in the 
morning; “ don’t be rash, for I do not see what we 
should do if anything should happen to you.” 

“It’s hardly more than a picnic, mother,” he 
replied as gayly as he could. “In four or five 
weeks I ’ll be with you again ; and won’t I have 
great stories to tell you about what I ’ve seen ! ” 

Florrie and Darling went to the wharf with him, 


124 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


and their waving handkerchiefs were the last im- 
pression that Dick had of New York as the steam- 
ship Alameda drew out from her pier and crept 
down the Hudson River. 

The upper and lower bays, the Narrows, the 
Quarantine islands, the forts, and big summer hotels 
along shore were all familiar sights to him, but life 
aboard ship was like being in a new world. It was 
his first ocean voyage, and he was prepared to enjoy 
every novelty and make the most of it. 

It was a surprise to him that the ship was more 
Spanish than English. The officers all spoke 
English and so did four or five of the passengers ; 
but the waiters spoke Spanish, the bills of fare were 
printed in both Spanish and English, the cooking 
was Spanish, and in the cabins and staterooms were 
posted notices from which he learned his first 
Spanish sentence : — 

Aqui no se permite fumar — “Smoking is not 
permitted here.” 

It was a necessary warning, for nine tenths of the 
passengers were Cubans, dark-skinned little fellows 
with cigarettes forever between their lips. 

All these things Dick noticed before the ship 
passed Sandy Hook, for after that there was an un- 
pleasant period of two days when he lay in his berth 
seasick and forlorn. When he appeared on deck 
again the steamer was below Hatteras, and a school 
of porpoises were playing antics in front of the bow. 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY. 125 

“ Going to Havana, senor?” he was asked as he 
stood leaning over the forward rail watching the 
graceful movements of the fish ; and looking up he 
saw that the speaker was a tall young Spaniard, 
perhaps two or three years older than himself, 
handsomely dressed, but with a look in his face that 
Dick did not particularly like. 

“ Yes,” he replied ; “ to Havana first, then on to 
Vera Cruz and Mexico.” 

“ Good ! ” the Spaniard exclaimed. “ I too am 
going to Mexico ; we shall be friends. It is my 
native city — Mexico — and I am going home.” 

Dick brought his interviewing powers to bear, 
and in five minutes he learned that the Mexican was 
Senor don Manuel de Comacho, a lieutenant in the 
Mexican navy, who had been spending a year in 
Paris, and who was now going home with his young 
wife and an infant two or three months old. 

“ But we are not in favor there now,” Comacho 
laughed ; “ my father was Secretary of the Treasury 
before Diaz became President, but now he is out. 
Perhaps I may get into trouble by going back.” 

“You are very free in telling your affairs to a 
stranger,” Dick thought ; but he answered pleas- 
antly, glad to have some English-speaking person 
to talk to. At the dinner table he was surprised to 
find the lieutenant’s wife as fair as a lily ; a pretty 
young woman enough but proud, particularly of her 
complexion, for in Mexico a white skin is thought 


126 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


the perfection of beauty. She spoke nothing but 
Spanish, however, so Dick could only bow when he 
was introduced. 

“ To-morrow we shall be in Havana,” Comacho 
said. “ We might go about the city together. I 
shall be a useful guide,” he added, laughing, “ for 
you speak no Spanish, and you would lose your- 
self.” 

Dick ridiculed the idea of his losing himself any- 
where, but it suited him very well to go ashore with 
some one who knew the place. Forty-eight hours 
the Alameda was to lie there before continuing her 
voyage across the Gulf of Mexico to Vera Cruz. 

It was just as the sun was rising that the vessel 
steamed into Havana harbor, saluting with her 
brass cannon as she passed the Morro Castle. The 
scene filled Dick with rapture, as it does every one 
who is not too familiar with it. The pink and blue 
and yellow houses of the city, the fleet of vessels 
at anchor, the church bells ringing with a tone so 
different from the bells at home ; the fort on one 
side of the entrance and the oldtime castle on the 
other ; and better than all, to Dick’s mind, a man 
on the opposite shore leading a flock of sheep down 
to the water to bathe, with a long crook in his hand, 
just like the biblical shepherds. It was fairyland 
under a hot sun ; and by the time that he and 
Comacho had visited neighboring sugar estates and 
tobacco plantations, and had seen the great Tacon 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMIL Y. I2J 

Theatre, and eaten cooling ices in the Cafe da 
Louvre, and driven through the Prado, Dick 
declared that he had enough to write about for 
six months. 

“ But I do not see you taking any notes,” said 
Comacho ; for Dick had told him that he was a 
newspaper man. 

“ No,” Dick answered, “ I never take notes. 
They only bother me. Sometimes a name or a date 
I put down, but nothing more. A thing that makes 
an impression upon me I never forget ; a thing that 
makes no impression is not worth writing about.” 

Comacho’s affairs were soon to make an impres- 
sion upon Dick that he little suspected. The 
Alameda dropped anchor several days later in the 
roadstead of Vera Cruz, a mile or more from shore 
and just to the south of the great Castle of San 
Juan de Ulloa, and the health officer of the port 
came out with several assistants in a handsome boat. 
The officer made his inspection and was rowed 
away, and five minutes later Dick found Comacho 
seated upon the grating at the stern, his face buried 
in his hands weeping bitterly. 

It was new to Dick to see a man shed tears, 
though he remembered that in Saratoga his throat 
had become rather lumpy while he was talking to 
Mr. Clair. But he had traveled with the young 
Mexican and eaten with him and met his wife, so he 
felt that he owed him some allegiance. 


128 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“Why, what’s the matter, old fellow?” he asked, 
laying his hand kindly on Comacho’s shoulder. 
“ What are you crying for ? ” 

“ Oh, I ’m in great trouble, Sumner,” the lieuten- 
ant answered. “ A friend of mine who came out in 
the doctor’s boat tells me that I am suspected of 
carrying dispatches from my father to enemies of 
the government who have gone abroad, and that I 
am to be arrested as soon as I go ashore.” 

“Is that all!” Dick exclaimed. “Why, that’s 
nothing to cry over, man. If they can’t prove 
anything against you, they’ll have to let you go 
again.” 

“ Ah, it is not here as it is in your country ! ” the 
lieutenant sobbed. “ If they get me in jail once, 
they may keep me there for years. Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” 

“Say, now you stop this!” Dick commanded; 
he was becoming disgusted at the spectacle. “ You 
are an officer in the navy, and you have a family 
aboard the ship to take care of, and you ought to 
be ashamed of yourself to sit down and cry. If 
you brace up and act like a man, I ’ll try to help you 
out of the scrape.” 

“ Oh, you can’t, you can’t ! ” Comacho replied ; 
“ you are only a stranger here, and you can do 
nothing.” But he took out his handkerchief and 
tried to dry his eyes. 

“Can’t I?” Dick asked. “Well, here’s the first 
thing. If you have any contraband papers with 



(( 


WHAT’S THE MATTER, OLD FELLOW ?” 





DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY. I 29 

you, go down to your stateroom and read them and 
burn them.” 

“ I have none — not one,” Comacho answered. 

“ Very well. Now where will they arrest you?” 

“ At the Custom House mole. We all have to 
take small boats from the ship to the shore and land 
at the Custom House mole, and the minute I land 
there they will arrest me.” 

“ Then don’t land at the Custom House mole!” 
Dick exclaimed. “ Pay one of the boatmen to land 
you up or down the coast ; anywhere but at the 
mole.” 

“ They would n’t dare do it,” Comacho answered. 
“ It would be as much as their heads were 
worth.” 

Dick took a turn across the deck with his hands 
in his pockets, deep in thought. 

“ How long have you been out of the country?” 
he asked a moment later. 

“ More than a year and a half.” 

“Then you must have changed in appearance!” 
Dick exclaimed ; “ you can’t look just the same as 
you did. Why not disguise yourself as much as 
you can, and you go ashore alone and try to pass 
the officers undetected ; and I will follow later with 
your wife and baggage.” 

“ I believe I could do that ! ” Comacho answered, 
his face brightening. “ I have raised a little beard 
since I went away and I am stouter. I think I can 


130 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


slip past the officers into the city, and in the city 
my fathers friends will help me.” 

“ You can take my big ulster and steamer cap ; 
they will nearly cover you up,” Dick said. “ Be- 
sides, they will expect to see you with a wife and 
child ; your going alone will help to fool them.” 

“ And you will bring my wife and baby ashore ? 
and the baggage, the six trunks ? O senor, senor, 
you know not how much you do for me ! Take 
them to the Hotel Veracruzana, and this evening 
bring them to the railway station. The train starts 
for Mexico city at nine, and I will meet you in the 
station — unless, indeed, I am in prison.” 

Under the influence of Dick’s energy the Mexi- 
can was becoming quite bold. The tears were 
gone now, and in the big ulster and peaked steamer 
cap his own mother would hardly have recognized 
him. 

“You must explain everything to your wife,” 
Dick cautioned him, “ for you know she cannot 
understand me. And impress it upon her that she 
is not to say one word to anybody till I have her 
safely landed in the hotel.” 

In a minute more Comacho was in one of the 
small boats, under a curved canvas awning like the 
cover of a prairie wagon, on his way to the mole. 
Anxiously Dick watched and saw him land, saw him 
ascend the stone steps, and saw him go under the 
big stone arch that leads from the Custom House 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMIL Y. I 3 I 

into the city. He had passed the officers without 
recognition, and was safely landed in Vera Cruz. 

Up to this time Dick had thought very little about 
himself in the matter. Comacho had been his 
companion for ten or eleven days, and when he was 
in trouble Dick was glad to help him. But the 
comical position in which he had put himself began 
to make itself evident when the Mexican’s trunks 
were hoisted out of the hold. 

“It’s one of the funniest things I ever saw — 
this part of it,” he said to himself, while the bag- 
gage was coming up. “ Here ’s a young reporter 
leaves New York a single man, and remains single 
all the way to Vera Cruz, with just the one trunk he 
started with. Then he lands at Vera Cruz with 
rather a pretty wife to whom he can’t say a word 
because he does n’t understand her language, and a 
dear, sweet, little baby that he does n’t even know 
the name of, and six more strapping big trunks. I 
wonder whether I ’m going to have adventures like 
this all through Mexico ? I’m beginning well, at 
any rate. 

“There’s a more serious side to it, too ; but I am 
going into that with my eyes open. I am going 
ashore with the wife and child of a man who is 
wanted by the government, and I may easily be 
mistaken for him and be arrested. But that would 
be too good to be true. Wouldn’t the New York 
boys be jealous if I should walk right into a Mexi- 


i3 2 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


can prison the minute I landed ? The story of the 
arrest would be worth at least two columns, and the 
court proceedings ought to make at least two fine 
articles. Then there might be some English-speak- 
ing prisoners in the jail who could tell me a lot of 
capital stories, and after a few days the American 
minister would have me out with great eclat, and 
my liberation would make another article. But 
that ’s too good luck even to think about.” 

It required the largest of the rowboats to carry 
Dick’s party and their trunks ashore, and when 
they landed at the mole the boatmen shouldered 
the trunks and took them to the open gallery in 
which they were to be examined by the Custom 
House officers. 

Dick opened his own trunk first to give Senora 
Comacho time to get out her keys, and the inspector 
gave its contents hardly more than a glance. But 
the Mexican lady did not understand, and Dick 
explained to her, by holding up the key of his own 
trunk, that he must have her keys. He began to 
unlock her trunks when she produced them, but the 
inspector stopped him. 

“Oh, it’s all right, is it?” Dick said. What the 
inspector said was all Greek to him, but he under- 
stood the meaning of the motions the man made 
toward the big gate. “ Don’t care to look at them, 
don’t you ? That ’s because they belong to a good- 
looking young lady. You Custom House fellows 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY. 1 33 

are all alike, whether you speak English or 
Spanish.” 

They were at liberty now to take their trunks to 
the hotel, but how to get them there was more than 
Dick could see. He wanted a dray ; but he could 
see the street through the broad arch, and there was 
no wheeled vehicle in sight. He did not know, of 
course, that all such carrying is done on porters’ 
shoulders in Vera Cruz. When he stepped through 
the arch to look up and down the street a dozen 
porters followed him back to the trunks. 

“These porters will carry your trunks to the 
hotel,” said the inspector, not in so many words, 
but by pointing first to the porters, then to the 
trunks. 

Those little porters ! Some of them looked like 
boys of twelve or fourteen. All were bare-headed 
and bare-legged, and their tawny little legs did not 
look strong enough to carry much of a load. 

“ Si ! si ! ” said Dick. He had learned that much 
Spanish on the steamer. “ Hotel Veracruzana.” 

The undersized porters shouldered the heavy 
trunks with ease and filed out into the street, seven 
of them, one after another, Dick and Senora 
Comacho, the latter with the baby in her arms, 
bringing up the rear. 

“This is rich ! ” Dick exclaimed as they marched 
solemnly up the hot street. “ What would n’t I give 
to have Dr. Goode and Jack Randall see this pro- 


134 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


cession ; and mother and Florrie, too. But I think 
some of them would be wanting to know where I 
got thisj wife an d— baby.” 

“This the hotel?” he wondered, when the porters 
turned into a sombre stone building with a display 
of canned goods on the shelves inside. “ Why, this 
is a grocery store.” 

But a moment later he took it to be a cigar store, 
then a barroom, then a restaurant. It was the hotel 
office nevertheless, and the lady with the baby 
remained standing by the door while Dick went up 
to the clerk to negotiate. 

Such a hotel office he had never seen before. It 
was a large room, certainly fifty or sixty feet square, 
with a counter running partly across near the front, 
and shelves back of the counter filled with cans and 
bottles, and all the rear part of the room occupied 
with chairs and marble-topped tables. 

The clerk was full of smiles, as a matter of 
course. No words were needed to tell him what 
was wanted. Here was a family just arrived by the 
steamer, and they desired accommodations. He 
summoned a copper-colored boy to show them to 
their room, and bowed profoundly. 

“ Yes, but hold on here ! ” Dick exclaimed as the 
truth flashed upon him. “ This is not a family, you 
know ; this is parts of two families. We ’ve come 
in sections. The lady wants a room, and so do I ; 
but we want them separate.” 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY . 135 

The clerk raised his eyebrows in astonishment at 
Dick’s rapid English. 

“Two rooms,” said Dick; “two — two; ” and he 
held up two fingers. 

“Dos?” said the clerk. He understood the 
word two, and repeated it in Spanish. 

“ Wait till I bring the lady,” Dick answered. “ I 
can’t tell her what I want to say,” he added under 
his breath ; “ but she ought to see for herself, and 
explain it.” 

And so she did. A few rapid sentences ex- 
changed between the lady and the clerk, with many 
gesticulations, set everything straight. Senora 
Comacho and her child were led away in one 
direction, and Dick was escorted in another to 
a room scarcely smaller than his flat in New York. 

“They’re determined to make a family man of 
me,” he said as he glanced about the room ; “ and it 
would take a good-sized family to occupy this room 
properly. Four big beds, four washstands, four 
rocking-chairs, brick floor, and enough windows for 
a whole house.” 

By the middle of the afternoon he had seen most 
of the sights of Vera Cruz, including the great 
hospitals that once were monasteries, and the 
Alameda, the Trianon, and the ugly black buzzards 
that clean the streets, and was sure that he had 
material for one or two good articles. He must, he 
knew, escort his fair charge down to dinner ; and he 


136 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


had returned to the hotel for that purpose and was 
trying to devise a way of sending a message to her. 
when the lady herself appeared. 

She seemed to be much excited about something, 
and the moment she saw Dick she gave an exclama- 
tion of surprise and beckoned him to follow her up 
the stairs. 

Dick stood for a moment undecided. 

“ This is awkward,” he thought. “ Next wife I 
have shall speak English, sure ; then I ’ll know what 
I ’m about.” 

But the lady continued to beckon, and there was 
nothing Dick could do but follow. He followed her 
to the door of her room ; and there in the room, 
placidly smoking cigarettes, sat the lieutenant, 
Senor don Manuel de Comacho. 

“ O Comacho, this is very reckless ! ” Dick ex- 
claimed, stepping in and hastily closing the door. 

“ Oh, no,” Comacho replied with a look of the 
most intense cunning in his face ; “I fooled them 
nicely. I came in the back way.” 

Dick hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry. 
After all his trouble in the morning, all his well-laid 
plans, the Mexican had deliberately walked into 
the hotel and flattered himself for his shrewdness 
because he came in by the backdoor. 

“You are too brave,” Dick said, certain that the 
lieutenant could not appreciate the sarcasm; “you 
Mexicans do not seem to know what fear is. If 


DICK LANDS IN MEXICO WITH A FAMILY. 137 

your whole navy is officered by men like you, Coma- 
cho, it is invincible.” 

“ A Mexican knows no fear, Sumner,” the lieuten- 
ant answered proudly ; and as Dick made a mental 
picture of this particular Mexican sitting on the 
grating shedding seas of tears because he was in 
fear of being arrested, he found it necessary to step 
to the window to admire the scenery. 

Brave as he was, the lieutenant would not run 
the risk of going down the public room to dinner ; 
he meekly held the baby, while Dick and the senora 
dined, and food was afterward sent up to him. 

By a quarter before nine in the evening Dick and 
his companions were in the railway station, Comacho 
still disguised in the big ulster and the steamer cap. 
The railroad is operated on the English plan, with 
compartment cars, each compartment large enough 
to hold eight persons, with a door on each side. 
The train stood beside a platform, with the station 
lights burning brightly on one side and nothing 
but intense darkness on the other. The party 
seated themselves in their compartment, and in 
three minutes more the train would have been under 
way and Comacho out of present danger, when they 
heard the tramp, tramp, tramp ! of a squad of men 
marching down the platform. 

“ I’m gone !” Comacho exclaimed; and instantly 
buried his face in his hands and began to weep. 

Before Dick could reply, the squad of six men, 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


138 

with an officer at their head, halted near the com- 
partment door, and the officer stepped up to the 
door, and seeing a lady inside, removed his hat. 

He pressed a paper, an official-looking document, 
into Comacho’s hands, said something in Spanish, 
and politely stepped aside to give his prisoner an 
opportunity to speak to his wife. 

“Oh, I’m arrested! I’m arrested!” Comacho 
wailed ; and he frantically wrung his hands, while 
great tears coursed down his cheeks. 

“You ought to be!” Dick declared, thoroughly 
disgusted at the fellow’s cowardice. “You blubber- 
ing baby, you ought to be hanged ! But you ’re 
not gone yet, if you have the heart of a mouse. 
Do you see that door on the opposite side of the 
car ? I don’t know where it leads to, but you do. 
Open that door, if you ’re a man, and disappear in 
the darkness.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 

XTO, no ! ” the lieutenant moaned ; “ I can’t do it ; 
^ ^ I can’t do it ! It’s all up with poor Comacho.” 

He put his head down again and burst into 
another flood of tears. His wife threw her arms 
around his neck and wept hysterically ; and to com- 
plete the picture the baby began to cry. 

The first warning bell gave notice that in another 
minute the train would start. 

“ If you are determined to do nothing for your- 
self, Comacho,” Dick said, “ I will stay behind with 
you if I can be of any assistance.” 

“ No,” Comacho moaned, “ leave me to my fate ; 
I am past help. If you will go on with my wife and 
child to the capital, it will be the greatest favor you 
can do me. Here, take the ulster and cap ; they 
are no use to me now.” 

Pulling off the heavy coat and giving a last 
embrace to his wife and baby, the bold lieutenant 
stepped out of the compartment and gave himself 
up to the officer, and at that moment the last bell 
tapped and the train moved off. 

Dick was in anything but a comfortable situation, 
with an all-night’s ride before him with the hysterical 


139 


I40 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

young woman and the crying baby ; but he looked 
upon it as a valuable experience, worth a column or 
two sometime, perhaps, as a phase of Mexican life. 

“ It was rather stretching a point,” he reflected, 
“ to try to help the fellow escape. If he had been 
a criminal, of course I should n’t have done it ; or 
even if there had been any regular charge against 
him ; but a mere suspicion of a slight political 
offence is different. However, there ’s no use 
trying to help such a fellow as that. Why, an 
American boy ten years old would have more 
grit.” 

The train had not gone far before Dick found 
himself holding the baby, in an awkward fashion 
enough ; and in an hour or two both mother and 
child were asleep. He did not know that the dark- 
ness was hiding from him some of the grandest 
scenery on the continent ; snow-capped mountain 
peaks, and vast plains thousands of feet below, with 
their scores of little cities, with burnished domes 
and spires on their cathedrals. He did not even 
know, shut up in the close compartment, that when 
the train reached the foot of the mountain the ordi- 
nary engine was exchanged for a great double- 
headed locomotive, with two smokestacks and two 
engineers. 

He did know, however, that between midnight 
and daylight the air was unpleasantly cold ; and he 
was not at all sorry when at eight o’clock in the 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 


14 1 

morning the train drew into the great station in 
the city of Mexico. 

In the midst of her preparations for getting out, 
the Senora Comacho pressed a little slip of paper 
into Dick’s hand with something written upon it. 
It gave him a start, for he did not know what it 
could mean. Was the lieutenant’s wife trying to 
begin a flirtation with him ? That was so absurd 
that it almost made Dick laugh ; but he had heard 
that Spanish women are given to that sort of thing. 

When he looked at the paper he saw the words, 
written in a fine Italian hand : — 

“ Calle Estampa de Jesus Maria, Numero Cinto.” 

In his ignorance of the language he could only 
look at the lady and smile and bow. 

“ Maybe she ’s asking me to call and see her,” he 
reflected. “ Calle may mean ‘ call ye ’ ; perhaps it’s 
an invitation to meet her under the shadow of the 
cathedral spire at midnight. It ’s a pity I ’m not 
more romantic.” 

He kept the paper in his hand, not knowing what 
else to do with it ; and when they reached the street 
and the lady held up her finger to the nearest cab- 
man, and pointed smilingly to the paper, he saw that 
his suspicions were unfounded. The words were 
nothing but the address to which the lady desired to 
be driven — the address of the lieutenant’s father. 

“ Si, si ! ” the driver exclaimed when Dick handed 
him the paper; “ Haysoos Mar-eea, Numero Cinto.” 


142 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ ‘ Jesus Maria’ is rather an odd name for a 
street,” Dick thought ; “ but it does n’t sound quite 
as irreverent when they pronounce it Haysoos 
Mar-eea, as these Mexicans do.” 

Dick kept his eyes wide open, as usual, and he 
had not gone far before he discovered that almost 
every street in the city is named after some saint. 
And, more than that, that every block of every 
street has a separate name, a method bewildering to 
most strangers. 

He saw his fair charge and her child safely within 
the doorway of a fine old stone mansion, and ten 
minutes later he was in his room in the Hotel Itur- 
bide, the vast building that was erected by the 
Emperor Iturbide for a palace. 

To present his letter to the American minister 
was Dick’s first work ; and he went about it so 
promptly that before dark he was informed that 
President Diaz would give him an audience in the 
palace the following morning at eleven o’clock. 

The exterior of the palace was a disappointment. 
With its long range of low, plain walls, it reminded 
Dick of the old Madison Square Garden. But when 
the six soldiers at the gate presented arms as he 
drove in, his opinion of it rose ; and he was soon 
following an orderly through an endless series of 
handsome apartments, to the throne room in which 
he was to meet the President. 

“ I am glad to meet a representative of one of 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 


H3 


the foremost American newspapers,” the President 
of Mexico said as he gave Dick’s hand a warm 
shake. 

And Dick was delighted to be so agreeably sur- 
prised in the President. The Comacho incident 
had given him a bad impression of the Mexicans ; 
but here was a Mexican of a very different sort. 

“ It would be hard to make this man shed tears,” 
he thought as he looked admiringly at the handsome 
man by his side. “ No nonsense here. Six feet 
tall, if he ’s an inch ; straight as an arrow, darker 
than a copper cent, muscles firm as iron.” 

“ They call me the Aztec,” the President laughed, 
when the conversation turned upon his personality. 
“ I thank them for doing me justice, for I am of 
almost pure Indian blood. Study the people while 
you are here, Mr. Sumner, and you will find that no 
man need blush to be called an Aztec. You will 
hear of me that I have spent seven days in the 
saddle with no food but a handful of meal. It 
is true. Yes” (and his rich dark eyes flashed), 
“ and I can do it again, if my country requires the 
service.” 

After a conversation of nearly an hour the Presi- 
dent conducted Dick into several of the state 
apartments, to show him the portraits of famous 
Mexicans. 

“ All this is Maximilian ! ” he exclaimed, waving 
his hand toward the handsome mirrors, the gilded 


144 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


chairs, the glistening chandeliers. “ Poor Maxi- 
milian ! He did much to ornament our capital.” 

That evening Dick received an unexpected call 
from the minister. 

“You are acquainted in the Calle Estampa de Jesus 
Maria ? ” the minister asked, smiling ; “ at numero 
cinto, number five ? You have friends there ? ” 

“ I have been there twice,” Dick answered — 
“ once to see Lieutenant Comacho’s wife safely 
home, and once to make the call of courtesy, 
inquiring after her welfare.” 

“ I see,” the minister said ; “ there is no harm 
done ; but if I were you I should not call there 
again. There are wheels within wheels in this 
country. The Comachos are under the displeasure 
of the government, and it is not safe to have much 
to do with them. I can only give you a hint.” 

“Yet this is a republic ! ” Dick exclaimed. 

The minister smiled. 

“ Your friend Comacho has been brought up from 
Vera Cruz,” he said, “ and is now in the capital — in 
the Belen.” 

“ The Belen ? ” Dick repeated inquiringly. 

“Yes; our famous prison. You remember the 
poem, ‘ Storming the Belen Gate ’ ? It is the same 
old Belen, still a prison. Comacho is there'; and it 
is a very uncomfortable place, I assure you.” 

“ And how long will they keep him there? ” Dick 
asked. 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 145 

“ Till the government sees fit to let him out,” the 
minister said. “The habeas corpus is merely an 
ornament here. When a man once goes to prison 
— but I must remember that I am talking to a 
newspaper man. It does not do for a minister to 
express himself too freely.” 

Two days later Dick and the minister ate luncheon 
in private with President Diaz ; and Dick lost no 
opportunity to make short excursions to neighboring 
towns and into the country. He explored the great 
cathedral, the largest church building on the Ameri- 
can continent ; he visited the floating gardens, the 
base of the volcano Popocatapetl, the famous Cathe- 
dral of Our Lady of Guadeloupe ; he consorted with 
the pure Indians in the country and walked with the 
water-carriers as they worked ; he delved here and 
there and everywhere for facts ; and no man ever 
saw more of the Mexican capital in a week than 
Dick did. 

But with all the sight-seeing he did not neglect 
the writing. 

“ A hod-carrier could write good letters with such 
facts as I have,” he said to himself. “ I must get 
them on paper while they are fresh in my mind.” 

Night after night he toiled away in his room ; 
and as the letters went home by rail, the early ones 
were appearing while he was still in the Mexican 
capital. 

“ I feel as if I ought to call upon Comacho at the 


146 THE YOUNG REPORTER . 

Belen,” he said to the minister when the time had 
nearly come for his stay to end. “ He is a cowardly 
fellow, but it seems unkind to go off without bid- 
ding him good-by.” 

“I will take you there,” the minister replied; 
“ you can go safely with me.” 

Dick’s work had taken him inside many prisons, 
but he had never seen anything quite as gloomy and 
depressing as the interior of the Belen. A guard 
was sent for Comacho, and he was brought to the 
stone-paved reception room with manacles on his 
feet, and coatless, but with a gaudy striped serape 
or Mexican blanket about his shoulders. There 
was a beard of many days’ growth upon his face, 
and altogether he looked wretched and forlorn. 

He burst into tears, as usual, as soon as he 
caught sight of Dick. 

“ I have no hope of getting out,” he moaned ; 
“ none ; I am ill-fed, ill-treated, dirty. I should 
never have come back to this wretched country.” 

The scene was too painful to stand long, and 
Dick cut it as short as possible. He wished the 
lieutenant a speedy deliverance and bade him 
good-by ; and that was the last he saw of Senor 
don Manuel de Comacho. 

“ I have been particularly impressed with one 
thing in Mexico,” he^said to the minister after they 
had left the prison. “It seems to me that the best 
people in this country are the Aztecs ; the Indians, 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 147 

as we call them, for want of a better term. Where 
they have not been contaminated by associating 
with the conquering whites, the Spanish, Portu- 
guese, and people of other nations, they are a 
remarkably fine race — brave, honest, often hand- 
some ; altogether superior to the mixed Spanish 
people, who form the aristocracy here.” 

“ It would hardly do for me to express an opinion 
on the subject,” the minister replied, “ but I think 
your powers of observation do you great credit.” 

While Dick was on his way home, toiling away 
with his pencil even in the cars and on the steam- 
ship, he had no idea of the great success he had 
made of his expedition. He did not see a copy of 
the Transport while he was away ; but many other 
people saw it and read and enjoyed the letters of 
the bright young correspondent from Cuba and 
Mexico. In the Transport office they were consid- 
ered so good that his name, Richard Sumner, in full 
was signed to each letter ; and other newspapers 
liked them, too, so well that they were copied all 
over the country. He was making his name known, 
and favorably known, all over the land. 

“ It ’s lucky,” he said to himself over and over, 
“ that I made it a rule to write each subject while it 
was fresh. It makes a perfect jumble in a man’s 
head, traveling so fast in such strange countries. 
If I had merely made notes, I ’m afraid I should be 
all mixed up. I hardly feel like Dick Sumner, any- 


148 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


how, after this strange experience. I should n’t be 
a bit surprised to find myself wearing white cotton 
trowsers rolled above the knee and a white shirt 
flying outside my waistband, like some of the 
natives on the coast. But I never shall forget 
Comacho, whatever happens. Poor old Comacho ! 
He ’s an awful baby, but I ’m sorry for him.” 

It was shortly after noon when the steamer landed 
Dick in New York, and he determined to run into 
the office first to shake hands, before going home 
to enjoy a few hours of rest that he felt he had 
earned. He imagined that the boys would be glad 
to see him again, and he was sure that he would be 
glad to see the boys. He sprang up the stairs t,wo 
or three steps at a time. 

“ Hello, Sumner ! what are you doing here ? ” the 
city editor exclaimed as Dick walked through the 
big room. “ Did n’t you get my cable in Havana ? ” 

It was very different from the greeting he had 
expected. 

“ Cable ! ” Dick repeated ; “ I ’ve had no cable. 
I have n’t heard a word from the office since I went 
away.” 

“ I was afraid it had miscarried since I got no 
answer,” the editor went on. “You were ordered 
to go on to Porto Rico. I suppose you don’t know 
yet that your letters have made a great hit ; but 
that ’s the fact. Everybody is copying them, and 
the old man says you must keep on striking while 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 


149 


your iron is hot. You Ve hit off those Spanish 
countries in grand style, and you ’re booked to 
make a tour of Porto Rico, the only other Spanish 
island of the West Indies. But Mr. Harding will 
tell you all about it when he comes down.” 

“ I ’ll run up home and see the folks and be back 
in time to meet him.” 

“ Yes, that will do it. He ’ll send you down in the 
first steamer, I ’m pretty sure. There ’s a direct 
steamer from here to Porto Rico.” 

Dick carried both joy and mourning with him to 
the flat — joy over his return, mourning over the 
necessity of his going away again almost imme- 
diately. 

“ Why, that will be another month’s journey ! ” 
his mother exclaimed ; “ and just when you ’ve made 
yourself so famous, too. I ’m so glad you signed 
your name to those beautiful letters, Dick.” 

This was the first intimation Dick had that 
his name had been signed to the letters. His 
mother had carefully saved the papers that had the 
letters in, and there, sure enough, was his name at 
the end of every one — Richard Sumner — in bold 
capitals. Dick was as much pleased about it as 
anybody, for he knew the vast difference to the 
writer between an anonymous article and one with 
a signature. 

He took out a pocketful of letters that had been 
waiting for him in the office, and almost the first 


150 the YdiJrtG REPORTER. 

one opened was from the Benedict and Jackson 
Syndicate, asking him to write them a series of 
tropical letters. Another was from one of the great 
illustrated weeklies, asking for a page article on 
Mexico and the Mexicans. They almost upset Dick 
for a moment, all these evidences of success, pour- 
ing in upon him at once. The publishers’ letters he 
passed over to his mother and Florrie without 
a word. 

“ God bless you, my dear, dear boy ! ” his mother 
exclaimed, after she and Florrie had read the letters. 
She threw her arms around his neck ; and when 
Florrie did the same thing from the other side, they 
almost smothered him. “ It ’s no more than you 
deserve ; not a bit. Nobody knows as well as I do 
how hard you work, nor what a good boy you are. 

“ Oh, now, listen to me ! ” she went on, laughing 
and crying by turns ; “ calling him a boy ! Calling 
Richard Sumner, the great newspaper correspond- 
ent, a boy ! But you ’ll always be a boy to your 
old mother, won’t you, Dick ? ” 

“ That I will ! ” Dick exclaimed, whatever hap- 
pens. But do you know these tears remind me of 
a funny thing I saw in the railway car down in 
Mexico. I ’ll tell you about it after a while. I was 
almost drowned in tears down there — not my own, 
though. I don’t see how people could think those 
letters amounted to much, for I had to write them 
in the most outrageous places ; sometimes in my 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. i^l 

cabin when the ship was rolling ; sometimes in the 
cars ; once on one end of a table in a Mexican 
restaurant while a lot of Spaniards were playing 
monte on the other end; and one I wrote while 
sitting on a rock on the side of the volcano Popo- 
catapetl.” 

“ But we ’ll make up for all that botheration 
to-night,” he rattled on. “We’ll have a regular 
feast after Darling comes home from work ; that 
oyster supper we missed before. Oh, you ought to 
see the little Mexican oysters ! ” 

“ What ’s that about an oyster supper!” Darling 
exclaimed as he entered the room. “ I can hear the 
word oysters through a brick wall.” 

“ Hello, Darling, old man ! Ain’t I glad to see 
you again, though ! ” 

“ And ain’t I glad to have you back ! ” Darling 
retorted, wringing Dick’s hand. “ And back in 
such shape, too. Oh, you ’ve done yourself proud, 
Dick. Everybody has read your letters, and every- 
body likes them. And I ’m so glad, Dick,” — he 
lowered his voice a little and looked toward the 
door, for Mrs. Sumner and Florrie had stepped out 
to see after Dick’s trunk, — “I’m so glad the first 
thing you think of is home. So many of the 
fellows would think first of having a rousing time 
with the boys.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” Dick interrupted ; “ if a man can’t 
have a good time at home, where can he have it ? ” 


152 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ That ’s my idea. But some fellows don’t think 
so. I knew almost from the start that you were a 
fellow who would follow his ideals, Dick. Just let 
you get it into your head that the proper thing, the 
manly thing, was to be fast, to be a good fellow in 
the little clubs, to play poker and drink cocktails, 
and you ’d have gone into it strong, and it would 
have run you to the dogs in no time. But your 
good sense and good principles led you the other 
way, and you ’re just as hearty in your work as you 
might have been in deviltry. Whatever you set up 
for your ideal, that you ’d follow to the death. 
You don’t know how much I think of you, old man. 
There ’s no nonsense about you, either ; not a bit. 
Shake again.” 

“Well,” Dick laughed, anxious to change the 
subject, “ we were saying something about an 
oyster supper, I think. We must have it to-night, 
for Mr. Brown tells me they ’re going to send me 
right off to Porto Rico. That means another 
month’s journey, I suppose. We ’ll have the sup- 
per to-night after you come home from the office ; 
just mother and Florrie, you and myself ; ‘ us four 
and no more,’ as the rhyme goes.” 

“ Of course it ’s understood that I pay half the 
expense,” Darling said. “ But I ’m sorry you ’re 
going right off again — and glad too ; when do you 
start ?” 

“ Not settled yet,” Dick answered. “ I ’m to see 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 153 

the old man about it this afternoon. But in the 
first steamer, I suppose.” 

The neighbors in the flat had grown accustomed 
to the late hours kept by the two newspaper men. 
At first they had been very suspicious. Dick and 
Darling must be gamblers, they thought, to be out 
so late every night ; or perhaps they were actors ; 
but they learned the truth after a few weeks. 

“That old yarn about living in New York for 
twenty years without knowing your next-door neigh- 
bors,” Dick said one day, after some one had been 
asking a great many questions of Florrie, “ may be 
true to some extent. But I notice our neighbors 
keep pretty well informed about our affairs.” 

At the supper that night, which began at half- 
past two and lasted for several hours, because there 
was so much to talk about, Dick made an important 
discovery. He had had very little to do with any 
women but his mother and sister ; but when he saw 
Darling watching with admiring eyes every move 
that Florrie made, and helping her to the choice 
bits of celery and the fattest oysters, and saw 
Florrie showing Darling many little attentions, he 
was shrewd enough to draw a conclusion that 
pleased him very much. 

“You must appreciate me while you have me, 
mother,” Dick laughed while they were eating; 
“ and you must pet me up as much as you can, sis, 
for Porto Rico is all settled. This is Tuesday night 


i54 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


(or rather it’s Wednesday morning now), and I ’m 
to sail on Thursday morning at eleven o’clock. I ’m 
to go in a freight steamer, too, but she ’s said to be 
a good, safe one ; a British steamer called the 
Smeaton Tower, that ’s chartered by the company. 
The next passenger- ship does n’t sail for ten days, 
so I engaged passage in the freighter, which goes 
on Thursday. I ’m to share the captain’s cabin with 
him ; and if he turns out to be a good fellow, it 
ought to be a pleasant voyage.” 

Dick insisted that his mother and Florrie and 
Darling must all go to see him off, because the 
Smeaton Tower was lying in the upper bay near the 
Statue of Liberty, and he would be taken off to her 
with the captain and supercargo in a tug from the 
foot of Wall Street, and it would giye them a 
pleasant little sail. 

“ Having a supercargo I think is a good point,” 
he laughed. “It’s quite a reminder of Robinson 
Crusoe, is n’t it, to be talking about the supercargo. 
He ’s the man, of course, who has charge of the 
cargo, and sees that the right stuff is landed at each 
port. You know the steamer goes all around the 
island, touching at every port. And there ’ll be no 
chance to send any letters up till I return, because 
our steamer will be the first one back. But I ’ve 
left eight Mexican letters in the office, so you ’ll 
have the extreme pleasure of seeing my name in the 
paper two or three times a week while I ’m away.” 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 


55 


“And you can’t imagine how kind the old man 
is, Darling,” he went on. “ I asked him for per- 
mission to write some letters for Benedict and Jack- 
son’s Syndicate and the Illustrated Weekly, and he 
told me I should write wherever I chose; that he 
was glad I had the opportunity.” 

“ He’s a brick ! ” Darling exclaimed. “ He never 
forgets that he was a young fellow once himself.” 

When Dick climbed aboard the Smeaton Tower 
he had barely time to wave his handkerchief to his 
friends, for the tug turned about immediately for 
the city, and the steamer was put under way. 

The vessel was an agreeable surprise. Dick had 
never seen her before, and as she was a freighter he 
rather expected to find her a dirty, old tub with tar 
on her decks. But she was neat as a pin, a strong 
iron ship oT about two thousand five hundred tons, 
high forward and aft and low amidships, with the 
coziest of cabins aft, fitted with substantial mahogany 
furniture, and a little fireplace for use in cold climates. 

“ Make yourself at home in the stateroom,” said 
Captain Godfree, a jolly little Englishman from 
Plymouth. “ You ’re to sleep in my bunk and I 
take the broad sofa. I must be on the bridge till 
we ’re out of the harbor, but you ’ll find your bag- 
gage all in there.” 

“Well, if this is a freighter, give me a freighter 
to travel in every time,” Dick said to himself as he 
entered the captain’s stateroom. “Why, it’s as 


156 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

big as any four staterooms I ever saw, and here ’s 
a regular library in the bookcase. And here ’s the 
chronometer ; and drawers under the bunk that I ’m 
to sleep in, and everything fitted up in grand style 
with mahogany and marble. I ’d no idea they made 
these freighters so comfortable. Now this will be 
a real voyage ; more like the voyages I Ve read 
about. The passenger steamers are too much like 
hotels to suit me.” 

Dick was soon on the bridge with the captain 
and pilot and supercargo, watching once more the 
receding shores of New York harbor. He was not 
familiar enough with the ship yet to notice that the 
two mates were doing nearly all the work on deck, 
and that only one or two seamen were in sight. 
When the vessel was well outside of Sandy Hook 
the pilot was taken off in his boat, and Captain 
Godfree took command. 

“ Come and take the bridge, Mr. Turner ! ” he 
called to the second mate. 

“ Now, then, Mr. Gran,” he said to the big first 
mate, who was on deck just below the bridge, “ we ’ll 
go and stir up those lubbers in the foc’s’le.” 

“They’re full of bad whiskey, nearly every man 
before the mast,” Captain Godfree exclaimed, turn- 
ing to Dick. “ Carried on board dead, some of 
them. It ’s always so every time we start out ; and 
it’s notfcas much their fault, the poor duffers, as it’s 
the fault of the wretched shipping system in New 


A VOYAGE TO PORTO RICO. 


157 


York. We'll soon straighten them out, anyway. 
Come along, Mr. Gran.” 

The captain and first mate went up forward and 
threw open the iron doors of the forecastle, which 
was flush with the deck. One or two limp men 
half-crawled and half-fell out when the first door 
was opened. 

“ Stand up here, you drunken scoundrels ! ” the 
two officers shouted ; and each seized his man by 
the collar and raised him to his feet, shaking him 
soundly. 

They found a flask of liquor in the pocket of 
each man, which they threw overboard without 
ceremony. Quickly the others were dragged out 
and searched. Some of them showed fight, but 
they were quickly cuffed into submission. In a few 
moments all were out and set to work but one man. 
He braced himself full length across the little room 
in such a way that the united strength of the two 
officers could not budge him. 

“ I ’ll try the steam winch on him,” said the first 
mate. 

He took a short rope and put a noose around the 
man’s legs, and made the other end fast to the 
steam winch. 

“Oh! you’ll pull his legs off!” Dick shouted 
from the bridge as the mate started the winch. 

“ We ’ll see which ’ll give way first,” Mr. Gran 
answered; “the winch, the foc’s’le, or the man.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. 

TN a struggle between steam and iron on the one 
side and human flesh on the other, the flesh 
must generally give way ; and it was so in this case. 
The winch turned, the rope tautened, and in another 
second something must have broken. 

The man was more sober than his companions, 
as well as more stubborn ; and the moment the rope 
began to strain he simply bent his body, and the 
winch drew him easily out upon the deck. A 
minute later he was unfastened and set to work. 

“ That ’s the usual picnic we have at the beginning 
of a voyage,” Captain Godfree said when, every- 
thing being in working order, he returned to the 
bridge. “ We ship a new set of seamen for each 
voyage, and they generally come aboard too drunk 
for duty. A bad condition that poor Jack has come 
to in these days, is n’t it ? You see the minute they 
arrive in New York after a voyage they are seized 
upon by the sailors’ boarding-house keepers, who 
get all their money away from them and supply them 
with food and drink till it ’s time to get rid of them. 
Then the boarding-master finds a new ship for Jack 
and gets an order for his advance pay, and brings 

*58 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. I 59 

him aboard so full of Water Street whiskey that 
half the time the man does n’t know what ship he is 
on, nor where he is going. If the boys who think 
of running away to sea knew what the life of a 
modern sailor is, they ’d go rather slow.” 

“ I should think it would be dangerous to take 
the ship to sea with a crew that you know nothing 
about,” Dick suggested. 

“ Oh, no. You see there are enough of us who 
belong with the ship to handle her. Besides myself 
there are the first and second mates, the chief engi- 
neer and first and second assistants, the quarter- 
master, and four stokers. With these and the 
supercargo and the cook and two stewards, we 
can keep the crew in order. 

Dick expected to have a view of the whole length 
of the New Jersey coast, as he had had in the 
Alameda ; but in this he was disappointed. The 
Smeaton Tower headed a little east of south as soon 
as she passed Sandy Hook, her bow pointed direct 
for Porto Rico ; and in about two hours the American 
coast sank below the horizon. 

There were three good meals a day in the com- 
fortable cabin ; and for the evening there was a 
checkerboard, with the captain and supercargo to 
play with ; and there was the full run of the ship for 
Dick, with a much better chance to see everything 
than one can have on a passenger ship. The six 
days between New York and Porto Rico went by 


i6o 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


like a song, the sun growing hotter every day. 
About two o’clock in the afternoon of the sixth day, 
the high mountains of the island were sighted. 

“ There we are,” said Captain Godfree ; “ you see 
the little sextant and the chronometer have guided 
us right, though we have hardly seen as much as a 
schooner since we lost Sandy Hook. We ’ll eat 
dinner in San Juan to-night, if everything goes well.” 

It was a beautiful sight, that mountain-peak in 
the clouds, and Dick remained on the bridge to 
watch it. By three o’clock the mountains were 
much plainer, and by four he could distinguish their 
outlines plainly. When the supper-bell rang at five, 
he was just beginning to make out some cocoanut 
trees on shore. 

“ I don’t like the looks of the weather very much,” 
Captain Godfree said as they went down into the 
cabin. Dick and the captain and the first mate and 
supercargo ate together always at the first cabin 
table, the second mate eating from the same table 
later on. 

“There ’s a squall coming,” Captain Godfree con- 
tinued, “but we may get into harbor before it 
reaches us.” 

The captain got the meal started, but Dick saw 
that he was not at ease. He ate a few hurried 
mouthfuls ; and then, taking his cup of tea in his 
hand, he arose and said : — 

“You ’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen ; I must 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. l6l 

be on the bridge when we re approaching land in 
a squall.” 

The others quickly finished their supper and went 
up to the bridge. Dick was surprised to see how 
much darker it was. The clouds had grown blacker 
and there were some lights on shore. The captain 
stepped to the signal dial and pulled the handle that 
gave the engineer the order : — 

“ Half speed!” 

It was the act of a prudent commander. If he 
had not done it, the bones of the Smeaton Tower 
would be lying on the rocks of Porto Rico at this 
moment. 

All who had any right to be on the bridge were 
there to see the steamer enter the harbor of San 
Juan, the capital of Porto Rico They were Cap- 
tain Godfree and first mate Gran, each of whom 
had made eight previous voyages to the island; 
Mr. Maloney, the supercargo, an old navigator, who 
was perfectly familiar with the place ; and Dick, an 
interested spectator. 

“There is the great castle of San Juan on the 
side and summit of that hill,” said Mr. Maloney; 
“ the harbor runs in behind the hill, and the city 
lies on the other slope. You see where the two 
mountain ridges seem to join? Well, just below 
that the city lies. That light on the right is the 
lighthouse ; on the left are the castle lights. We 
run in between the two.” 


162 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ How far are we from the harbor mouth, 
captain ? ” Dick asked. 

“About four miles,” Captain Godfree answered. 
“ Now see how close a guess I have made. We are 
running six miles an hour, and you can tell by 
looking at your watch now and when we have the 
light abeam.” 

Darker grew the sky and brighter gleamed the 
lights on shore. There came a blinding flash of 
lightning, followed instantly by such a pour of rain 
as falls only in a tropical shower. 

A moment later there was a grating and grinding 
and crunching beneath their feet, and the ship 
stopped with a jar that threw them all against the 
bridge’s rail. The propeller continued to revolve, 
but the vessel was stationary. Dick did not know 
what it meant, but he saw by the countenances of 
his companions that something had happened. 

Not a soul moved for a second or two, but the 
seconds seemed like half-hours. Then the captain 
sprang to the signal dial. 

“ Blast my eyes ! ” he shouted. “ I ’ve put the 
ship aground ! ” 

“ Stop her ! Back her ! ” he signaled ; and the 
propeller first stopped, then began to reverse. But 
the ship’s only answer was to begin pounding 
against the rocks. She was hard and fast on a 
reef. 

Everything was in confusion in a moment. The 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. 1 63 

captain was shouting orders, men were rushing 
about the decks, the rain continued to pour, light- 
ning flashed, and thunder seemed to roll across the 
water and echo a dozen times among the moun- 
tains. To add to the weirdness of the scene, a 
number of bright lights sprang up along the shore ; 
some down on the beach, others apparently up in 
the hills. 

Dick was soaked with the rain, but he did not 
know it. The violent pounding of the ship made 
standing uncertain, and he wound his arm around 
one of the iron stanchions. 

“ I ’m sorry for Captain Godfree,” he said to 
himself, “ but I would n’t have missed this for a 
thousand dollars ! Just this scene alone is good 
for two or three columns. Those must be tar 
barrels they ’re burning on shore for signals ; and 
there are hundreds of people running about them, 
looking in that light like naked savages on a can- 
nibal island. Talk about shipwreck scenes in the 
theatre ! They ’re nothing compared with the 
reality.” 

Dick was alone on the bridge now. All the 
officers were on deck. He heard the captain rapidly 
issuing orders. 

“ Lower away the port quarterboat, Mr. Gran ! ” 

“ Sound the wells, Mr. Turner ! ” 

“ Quartermaster, heave the lead ! ” 

“ This is something for me to keep an eye on,” 


1 64 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Dick thought. “ I ’ll have a chance to see exactly 
what they do when a steamship is run on a reef.” 

At that moment Mr. Maloney sprang up the iron 
ladder and seized Dick by the arm. 

“ Don’t stay up here ! ” he shouted ; nothing less 
than a shout could have been heard in that furious 
din. “ She ’s liable to pound the masts out of her- 
self at any minute, and these iron masts will smash 
everything when they fall. You ’ll be safer in the 
cabin.” 

Dick had no idea of hiding himself in the cabin, 
but he went down as far as the deck, where he 
almost ran against Captain Godfree. 

“ Blast my eyes, Sumner ! ” the captain shouted ; 
“ I ’ve made the wrong port. This is not San Juan, 
at all ; this is Arecibo, forty miles down the coast ! ” 

By this time the officers had executed their 
orders. 

“Port quarterboat lowered, sir!” Mr. Gran 
shouted. 

“ Fore and aft wells dry, sir,” said Mr. Turner. 

“ Six fathom fore and aft, sir,” the quartermaster 
reported. “ Less than two fathom amidship. She ’s 
run up on a reef till she ’s nearly balanced on it.” 

But the worst report of all came from the 
engineer. He ran up to say : — 

“ Machinery disabled, sir. The jar has discon- 
nected the main steampipe ! ” 

“ You must mend it, chief! ” the captain answered. 


A STRANDED SNIP AND A BOARD OR SURVEY. 1 65 

“ We must have steam or we ’re gone. She ’ll 
break in two inside of an hour on this reef.” 

Leaving that work to the chief engineer, the 
captain went on issuing orders. 

“ Get out a kedge anchor, Mr. Gran, and put the 
cable on the after winch.” 

This work took some minutes, and while it was in 
progress Dick was delighted to hear the propeller 
revolving again, for that showed that the steampipe 
had been repaired. Dick was dodging into the 
little chart room every minute now, making memo- 
randa of all the orders issued ; for in that flood of 
rain it was impossible to write. 

When the kedge anchor was in place over the 
stern the after winch was started and the line taut- 
ened, but after a hard pull it snapped like a cord. 

“ Get out another anchor ! ” The captain and all 
on board were growing more excited — all but Dick ; 
he was busy taking notes. 

The second kedge anchor did better. With the 
engines reversed at full speed and the winch revolv- 
ing, they could feel the ship move. They sighted 
her bow with one of the fires on shore, and she 
certainly backed. She had begun to move faster, 
when there was a terrible crash aft and the stern 
flew up into the air. 

“ That settles us ! ” the captain shouted. “ We ’ve 
struck something and knocked the whole stern out 
of her.” 


1 66 the young reporter. 

But he kept the engines backing and the winch 
going, and in a minute the stern settled to its 
proper position and the ship continued to back. 
The anchor cable was cut and the quarterboat 
hoisted, and on went the ship, backing slowly sea- 
ward. She was afloat ! 

“ Sound the wells, Mr. Turner! ” 

“ Heave the lead, quartermaster! ” 

The ship was taking a little water, so “ start the 
number two pump, Mr. Gran,” was ordered. But 
the stern was still sound as far as could be seen in 
the rain and darkness, and she still floated and 
moved. 

For nearly half an hour the captain kept the 
engines reversed and the ship backing seaward ; 
then he started her ahead, pointed up the coast 
toward San Juan. 

“ That thing never happened to me before,” 
Captain Godfree said when he and Dick were in the 
cabin together an hour later. “There must have 
been something in the atmosphere to deceive me ; 
perhaps it was the refraction ; I had no more doubt 
that we were off San Juan than I have that we ’re 
sitting here. We had a narrow escape, and there ’s 
no telling how badly we ’re injured till we get into 
San Juan harbor. I think we have lost most of our 
propeller, but we have enough left to move us. It ’s 
a bad beginning for your Porto Rico voyage.” 

“ Bad ! ” Dick repeated ; “ why, you could n’t have 


A STRANDED SNIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. l6j 

done anything to suit me better. I know as much 
about stranding a ship now as an old sailor. I ’m 
only sorry I could do nothing to help you.” 

“ Oh, but you can ! ” Captain Godfree retorted. 
“You can do a great deal to help me. It’s lucky 
for me I have you aboard, for you can give me a 
great deal of assistance with the cabling and the 
Board of Survey.” 

“Board of Survey?” Dick asked; “what is 
that?” 

“ Oh, you see you don’t know all about stranding 
a ship yet ! ” the captain laughed. “ When you get 
her off, that ’s only the beginning of the job. The 
Board of Survey is worse than running on the rocks. 
We have all that to come yet, and it will make a 
good newspaper article for you, too.” 

“ Why, you ’re a perfect jewel of a captain to 
travel with ! ” Dick exclaimed. “ The voyage down 
will make one article, stranding the ship is good for 
another, and this Board of Survey, whatever it is, 
will be the third, before I begin with Porto Rico at 
all. One thing I don’t understand, captain. What 
were all those lights on shore ? How did they come 
to be there ? ” 

“ Those were signals for us,” the captain replied, 
“ to warn us off. They saw us standing in for the 
shore, and knew that we ’d be on that deadly Are- 
cibo reef in a few minutes unless we put about. 
Arecibo is one of the ports we touch at, and our 


1 68 the young reporter. 

agents there burned those tar barrels to show us we 
were in danger. That is one of the most dangerous 
reefs on the coast, covered with the bones of lost 
ships. When we brought up sharp astern and prob- 
ably broke our propeller, we ran into the ribs of 
some sunken vessel. 

“ But I want you to help me, Sumner,” the cap- 
tain went on ; “ and we have a big job before us. 
I ’ll explain to you what has to be done in such a 
case, so that you ’ll understand. As soon as we 
reach port I have to cable my owners that the ship 
has been stranded and tell them how much damage 
was done. That has to be done with the cable 
code, of course, because telegraphing from Porto 
Rico to London costs three dollars a word, and we 
must put it in as few words as possible. You ’ve 
no idea what hard work it is to put a dispatch into 
the code ; at least it is for me ; perhaps it may be 
easier for you. 

“ Then,” the captain went on, “ comes the Board 
of Survey. This is a British ship, as you know ; 
so as soon as the cable is sent I go to the British 
consul in San Juan and report that my ship has 
been stranded and ask him to appoint a board of 
survey. He does so, appointing generally three 
masters of vessels that happen to be lying in the 
harbor. They examine the ship and decide whether 
she is fit to proceed on her voyage or not. Their 
decision is law, too, and we have to obey it.” 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. 169 

“Why!” Dick exclaimed, “I had no idea there 
was so much red tape about it. What is the use of 
all that fuss ? ” 

“ Because the ship might be so badly injured as 
to be unseaworthy,” the captain replied ; “ and to 
take her to sea in that case would be to risk the 
lives of the crew. I could n’t compel the crew to 
go another mile in her without a survey.” 

“ Now here is the cable code,” the captain con- 
tinued, handing Dick a small red-covered book. 
“ You see there are single words to express most 
every sentence a shipmaster could want to send. 
Of course the owners in London have another copy 
of the book, so that they can decipher the dispatch. 
The single word ‘ Refuse,’ for instance, means ‘No 
cargo to be had here,’ and saves five words in tele- 
graphing. I will write out the dispatch I want to 
send, and you can translate it into the code for me.” 

The captain took a pencil and wrote his dispatch 
in plain English, in this way : — 

Smith & Jones, London : — 

Stranded at Arecibo. On the rocks forty minutes. Damage 
unknown. Proceeded to San Juan and requested Board of 
Survey. Godfree. 

“ Now, there are twenty-four words,” the captain 
continued, “for the cable company charges for the 
address and signature. You will find some word 
in the book that means a whole sentence, and that 
will reduce the number of words about one half.” 


170 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Dick examined the book and soon mastered its 
principles. It might be hard work for a sea captain 
to prepare a cipher dispatch, but it was easy enough 
for a newspaper man. The word adjoins, he found, 
meant “ stranded at ” ; forward meant “ on the rocks 
forty minutes”; mystery meant “proceeded to”; 
and simply the word board stood for “ requested 
Board of Survey.” For “damage unknown” he 
had to search some time, but at length he found 
that the word motion expressed that. So his cipher 
dispatch, when done in the code, read in this way: 

Smith & Jones, London : — 

Adjoins, Arecibo, forward, motion, mystery, San Juan, board. 

Godfree. 

“There,” he said as he finished it, “ try that over 
with the book, captain, and see whether it does n’t 
express what you want to say.” 

“That’s it exactly,” the captain declared, after 
a long struggle with the book. “You ’ve got it into 
thirteen words — a saving to the company of over 
thirty dollars ; and you did it in ten minutes. It 
would have taken me half the night to cipher that 
thing out, Sumner.” 

“ I know something about the expense of cabling 
from Porto Rico,” Dick said. “A reporter finds out 
a little of everything, you know. I interviewed a 
man once who had been a cable operator in San 
Juan. He happened to be there when the Count 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OE SDR FEY. I 7 I 

cle Paris arrived on his way from Havana to Barce- 
lona. The count’s daughter was very sick in Eng- 
land, and he sat down in the office and wrote her a 
letter of one thousand four hundred words, and cabled 
it. That cost him over four thousand dollars.” 

“That might do for a millionaire like the Count 
de Paris,” the captain laughed, “ but I don’t think 
my owners would stand it. Now we must take hold 
of the Board of Survey matter, and I want you to 
do a little head work for me there. You ’re just the 
man to do it, too.” 

“Well, we’ve got safely out of one bad scrape 
to-night,” Dick answered; “I think we’ll pull 
through the next one.” 

“The main thing I’m afraid of, Sumner,” the 
captain said, “ is that the Board of Survey may 
order us into dry dock for repairs. There is no dry 
dock at Porto Rico, and we ’d have to go over to 
St. Thomas. If they should make us put in a new 
propeller, we ’d have to cable to England for it, and 
that would keep us in St. Thomas at least a month 
or six weeks.” 

“ That would be very bad for me,” he continued, 
“ to have the ship lose so much time. The owners 
won’t say much about my stranding the ship, if I 
don’t lose too much time over it. Now what we ’ve 
got to do is to influence the Board of Survey so 
that they’ll let us proceed on our voyage, and I 
want to do that through you.” 


172 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Through me ! ” Dick exclaimed. 

“ Yes, through you. You see shipmasters ain’t 
very good writers, as a rule, and it will be an easy 
matter to arrange things so that they ’ll ask you to 
act as clerk and do the writing. Then whenever 
they get stuck for a sentence to put in the report, 
you can suggest one. And of course you’ll sug- 
gest the things that we make up our minds we want 
in the report. Oh, that will work ; I ’ve seen that 
done before.” 

“Well,” Dick laughed, “that seems fair enough. 
Of course you’ll not want me to put in anything 
that is n’t fair and square. I want to help you in 
every honest way I can.” 

They sat up late discussing the report they 
wanted the board to make, and the substance of it 
all was that the ship was seaworthy and should be 
allowed to proceed on her voyage. 

“That’s it!” the captain exclaimed; “of course 
she’s seaworthy. We’re moving under our own 
steam, ain’t we, and taking hardly any water ? 
We’re fit to go around the world in. But I don’t 
honestly believe,” he added “ that there ’s more 
than part of one blade left in our propeller.” 

When the Smeaton Tower lay safely in San Juan 
harbor next morning Dick went out with Captain 
Godfree in one of the small boats, and they saw for 
themselves what had happened to the propeller. 
Two blades were gone entirely, the third was broken 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. \ 73 

off about six inches from the shaft ; and the fourth, 
the only serviceable blade, had lost but a few inches 
from its tip. 

“ But the bonnet is what I ’m afraid of,” the cap- 
tain said ; “ the bonnet you know is the part that fits 
around the shaft, that the blades are fastened to. 
If that should be cracked, it might drop off at any 
minute and then we ’d be helpless. However, we ’ll 
go on if the board will let us.” 

There was an interval of two days between the 
arrival of the Smeaton Tower at San Juan and the 
convening of the Board of Survey. This time Dick 
used to the best advantage on shore, driving out to 
the sugar and coffee plantations, making himself 
acquainted with the people and their mode of life, 
and riding over the railway. 

“ It ’s the people I like best to write about,” he 
often said to himself, “ because they are what the 
reader takes most interest in. Suppose I should try 
to write a glowing description of one of those 
mountain-peaks ? How many readers would care 
anything about it ? But everybody is interested in 
the way the people of other countries live. I don’t 
want to be one of the glowing-sunset writers, all 
color and no substance.” 

On the third day the members of the Board of 
Survey visited the ship. The British consul had 
selected three shipmasters who were altogether 
satisfactory to Captain Godfree.. One was Captain 


174 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


Fraser, of the steamship Caribbee ; another was the 
good-natured captain of a fine Spanish steamer 
lying in the harbor ; and the third was a real live 
Yankee skipper from Maine, whose schooner was 
waiting for a cargo of sugar. 

Dick and the captain naturally made everything 
as pleasant for the board as they could. A fine 
lunch was spread on the cabin table, to which they 
immediately sat down. The three shipmasters 
spent half an hour in looking over the vessel, rowed 
around to the propeller in a small boat, asked to 
have the engines moved, went down into the hold, 
and retired to the cabin with Dick and Captain 
Godfree, to make out their report. Dick, as had 
been anticipated, was asked to act as their clerk. 

“ I think we can say that the propeller is damaged 
but still serviceable,” said Captain Fraser, who was 
the spokesman. 

Dick put that down ; the consul had sent out the 
proper blanks for the report, and only the board’s 
findings had to be written in. 

“ And — and ” — 

“Engines moved and found in good order?” 
Dick suggested. 

“Yes, put that in,” Captain Fraser said. “And 
you can say that we have inspected the hull and find 
it fairly tight — with very little cement started. 
And you might add that we find that — that” — 

Captain Fraser looked inquiringly at his fellows. 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SDR FEY. ] 75 

“ That the ship is seaworthy and able to proceed 
on her voyage ? ” Dick suggested. 

“ Y-e-s,” Captain Fraser, said, looking inquir- 
ingly at the others, who both nodded. “ Yes, you 
can put that in, with a recommendation that she 
be docked on her arrival in New York.” 

It was all down in a minute, and Dick filled out 
the duplicate copy to be filed with the consul, and 
the members of the board signed them both. 

The danger of being sent to St. Thomas was over. 
The board had officially declared the ship seaworthy, 
and nothing would prevent her now from going on 
to her other ports. 

“ You did that famously, Sumner ! ” Captain God- 
free exclaimed, giving Dick a stunning slap on the 
back after the board had gone. “ I should have 
been in a tight fix without your help. I wish I could 
always have a newspaper man on board.” 

That same night the ship steamed back to Arecibo, 
having a quantity of cargo for that port, but this 
time she was careful to avoid the reef. Then she 
proceeded to Mayaguez, a port on the west coast, to 
deliver more cargo. In Mayaguez harbor she was 
soon surrounded by a little fleet of bum-boats, 
every boat loaded with something to sell — parrots, 
cigars, cigarettes, fruits, shell-work, sugarcane, bay 
rum, walking sticks, and a dozen other things. 

“ Hold on there ! ” the captain exclaimed to the 
first boatman who came up the ladder, “What have 


176 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


you got in those bottles ? I’m not going to have 
any rum brought aboard to the crew.” 

“ Him only bay rum, senor,” the man replied. 
“ Not drinkee ; only rub on face after shavee. Very 
nice bay rum, senor.” 

“ We ’ll see about that,” the captain replied ; and 
he sent for a corkscrew and opened several of the 
bottles. He and Dick both smelled them and were 
convinced that they contained nothing but bay rum. 

“ All right,” said the captain. “You can sell all 
the bay rum you like, but no other kind. Put the 
quartermaster at the head of the gangway, Mr. 
Gran, and let him open every bottle that ’s brought 
aboard. They may sell bay rum, but nothing to 
drink.” 

Either to let the crew go ashore or to allow any 
liquor on board meant a repetition of the scene of 
the first day, and strict orders were given that no 
one should land. Shoal water compelled the ship 
to anchor nearly a mile from the wharf, and the 
cargo was taken in lighters. But the order of 
course did not prevent Dick and the captain from 
landing, and they learned in the afternoon that a 
ball was to be given in the “Gran Hotel Marina” 
that night. 

“ I want you to see that,” the captain said to 
Dick. “ A ball in one of these old towns will give 
you something to write about. Our agents here 
will get invitations for us.” 


A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. \ 77 

They returned to the ship for supper, and about 
nine o’clock in the evening, dressed in their thinnest 
clothes (for the night was intensely hot) , they set 
out for shore and the ball, leaving Mr. Gran in 
charge of the deck. 

The open space in front of the hotel was full of 
carriages, and the ball was in full progress when 
they arrived. The dancers were in the dining-room, 
clad in the gayest of clothes. Music was playing, 
gay senors and senoritas were whirling. On the 
broad portico that extended across the whole front 
of the building most of the spectators were gath- 
ered, for the air was cooler there. 

Dick was enjoying the scene very much, going in 
and out among the dancers, admiring their grace 
and wondering at their strangely cut clothes, when 
Captain Godfree beckoned him to a retired part of 
the portico. 

“ I think we ’d better get out of this, Sumner,” 
the captain whispered. “ I have just found out that 
there ’s a case of yellow fever in the house.” 

“ There is ! ” Dick exclaimed. 

“Yes; and only two rooms from where they’re 
dancing, too. All those doors down the other end 
of the portico open into bedrooms, and the sick 
man is in the second room. He was taken down 
yesterday, but they ’re keeping it quiet so as not to 
break up the ball. These natives are not much 
afraid of the fever, you know, but it won’t do for 


1 7 8 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


us ; and the sooner we get out the better. The 
sick man is an American shipmaster with a brig 
lying in the harbor.” 

“An American!” Dick repeated; “and all this 
music and dancing about his ears ! Perhaps you 
had better go, captain ; but I shall stay and see 
whether my countryman is in need of help. Oh, 
yes ; I could n’t do anything else,” he went on in 
answer to the captain’s surprised look. “ You 
would do the same thing for an Englishman ; any 
decent man would. I am not afraid of the fever ; I 
# have seen plenty of it in Havana and Vera Cruz.” 

“ By George, I ’m glad the English and Americans 
are cousins ! ” the captain exclaimed. “ That ’s said 
like a man. But in this case it would be worse than 
useless for you to stay, for the man is well supplied 
with money, has good nurses and a good English 
doctor attending him ; so you would only be in the 
way. Come along.” 

Dick would not go until he learned from the 
hotel people that his countryman was supplied with 
every possible comfort ; and then he and the captain 
returned to the ship. It was after midnight when 
they reached her side, and they were surprised to 
hear a great commotion on deck. 

“ On deck, there, Mr. Gran ! ” the captain shouted 
when they were within a few feet of the vessel. 

“Aye, aye, sir!” Mr. Gran replied; “I’m glad 
you ’re back, sir. These lubbers have been drinking 














































.. 







HE SNATCHED A BELAYING PIN FROM ITS SOCKET AND SPRANG FORWARD 




A STRANDED SHIP AND A BOARD OF SURVEY. I 79 

bay rum till they ’re wild. They ’re in a state of 
mutiny, sir.” 

“ Are they ? ” the captain exclaimed. “ I ’ll sober 
’em, the drunken beasts ! ” He sprang up the 
ladder with Dick close behind, and the moment he 
reached the deck he threw off his coat. 

“ Call Mr. Turner and the quartermaster,” he 
ordered ; and Mr. Gran turned to obey. 

The men, eight of them, were in a cluster for- 
ward, near the starboard rail, fighting furiously, 
struggling, swearing, striking, too drunk to know 
or care that the captain had returned. 

Without waiting for assistance, Captain Godfree 
sprang into the midst of them, knocking two down 
with the first rush and staggering two more. Three 
of the others shrank back before the captain’s pow- 
erful fists ; but one big fellow stood his ground and 
whipped out a long knife. In a second, almost, one 
of the men who had been knocked down sprang to 
his feet and seized the captain from behind, while 
the big fellow in front, his face livid with rage and 
rum, raised his hand with the knife. 

Dick stood perhaps ten feet away, with the cap- 
tain’s coat over his arm. He heard the two mates 
and the quartermaster coming, but before they could 
reach the spot the captain would be a dead man. 
He saw the gleam of the long knife. 

Without an instant’s hesitation he snatched an 
iron belaying-pin from its socket and sprang forward. 


i8o 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


Crash ! crash ! 

Two blows with that heavy club laid the knife- 
wielder helpless upon the deck. Next moment the 
two mates and the quartermaster were there, and 
the mutiny was ended. Dick was glad to see the 
man with the knife struggle as the mates put hand- 
cuffs on him ; he was afraid he had killed him. 

“ Sumner, I ’ll always read the newspapers with 
greater respect after seeing what kind of fellows 
make them,” Captain Godfree said when they had 
retired to their cabin. “Whether it ’s to manage a 
board of survey, to brave the yellow fever, or to 
knock out a drunken sailor, you ’re on hand every 
time. If you ’ll stay on board this ship, I ’ll make 
a mate of you in short order.” 

“ Oh, that would be a holiday ! ” Dick laughed. 
“ I ’ve got three hours of writing to do now, 
captain.” 


CHAPTER X. 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PREACHER. 

WHOLE week at home ! That was the order 



***■ when Dick reached the office after his Porto 
Rico trip. It was necessary to give him a chance 
to write what he had in mind. 

“ The facts have got ’way ahead of me,” he said 
to the managing editor. “ I don’t think I wasted 
any time, but there was so much to see that I 
could n’t write fast enough.” 

He did not say that he had sat up writing half 
the night, sometimes all night, after a day of sight- 
seeing ; but that was the truth. His Mexican 
letters were still running, and he had a thick batch 
of letters ready from Porto Rico ; but there were 
many more to write, and he was told to stay at 
home for a week to catch up. 

“ It ’s the first real good chance I ’ve had to see 
how you live here,” Dick said to his mother. “ I ’ve 
been kept so on the jump that the flat has been 
only a lodging-house for me, and not always even 
that. But think of a whole week ! I ’ll be at work 
at night when Darling comes home, and what talks 
we ’ll have ! And sometimes I can borrow time 


I 82 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


enough to take you and Florrie out to some place 
of amusement.” 

“ I don’t care very much for amusements, Dick,” 
his mother answered ; “ and Florrie has been out a 
good deal lately ; not in the evenings, but going 
to matinees.” 

“ Oh, she has, has she ? ” Dick laughed. I 
can see through a millstone when there ’s a hole in 
it. Darling is busy in the evenings, but he is free 
in the afternoon for matinees. Ho ! ho ! ” 

Florrie entered the room at this moment and 
heard the mention of Darling’s name. 

“ What ’s that you ’re saying about Harry Dar- 
ling, Dick ? ” she asked, blushing. 

“ I have n’t told anything, Florrie,” Mrs. Sumner 
hastily sajd ; “but I don’t think you want to have 
any secrets from Dick, do you ? ” 

“ Of course I don’t,” Florrie answered, blushing 
very red. “There’s no secret about it, anyhow. 
Harry Darling and I are engaged, Dick.” 

“ Oh, I ’m so glad, Florrie ! ” Dick exclaimed ; 
and he sprang up and threw his arms around his 
sister and kissed her. “ Darling is one of the best 
fellows in the world ; one of the few men I know 
I ’d be willing to see you marry. He’s as true as 
steel, Florrie.” 

“ Don’t you think I know it? ” Florrie answered, 
still blushing. “But I was almost in hopes you ’d 
be opposed to it. It ’s so commonplace to have 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING FEE A CHEF. 183 

everybody think it just right, Mother thinks so, 
and of course Harry and I think so, and now you 
think so too. There ought to be some opposition, 
to add a little romance to the thing.” 

“ Romance in a flat ! ” Dick laughed ; “ the 

thing’s impossible. ‘Get your facts straight,’ as 
Dr. Goode would say, and never mind the romance.” 

“ Maybe I know more about Dr. Goode than you 
think,” Florrie answered. “ Did they tell you in the 
office that Harry had been promoted ? He is not 
an ordinary copy reader now, but Dr. Goode’s 
assistant, and helps to make up the paper, whatever 
that may be. I thought you all helped to make up 
the paper.” 

“ Is that so?” Dick exclaimed. “That’s good 
news, sure. Then he makes up all except the last 
page, which is the first page, Florrie. That’s a 
riddle for you. The doctor’s assistant makes up all 
but the first page of the paper, which is the last 
page made up, because it contains the latest and 
most important news. The doctor would n’t trust 
anybody else to make that up ; and I just wish you 
could see him make it up some night when there ’s 
fifteen columns of news to go into seven columns 
of space. The type is all spread out on galleys, 
you know, and the foreman reads the titles to him 
on account of the doctor’s bad eyes.” 

“There’s just about three minutes, we’ll say, 
before the last form has to go down. ‘ Train 


184 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


Robbery in Arizona, half a column,’ says the 
foreman. 

“ ‘ Kill it,’ says the doctor. 

“ ‘ Holman on Hard Money, column and a 
half,’ says the foreman. 

“ ‘ Hold Holman for to-morrow,’ says the doctor. 
And he takes his blue pencil and slashes away at 
the proofs, making a line out of a stickful and a 
stickful out of a column, till he squeezes a little of 
everything into his seven columns. It ’s a beautiful 
sight, and away goes the form on time. And so 
Darling is really the doctor’s assistant ! You don’t 
know how glad I am for both pieces of news, 
Florrie.” 

Dick soon took possession of the little parlor and 
turned it into a workshop and kept his pen going 
till, as he said, it grew hot and he had to stop to let 
it cool. It was always a pen with him when he had 
a proper place to write, not a pencil ; pencil copy 
looked too sloppy, he thought, and he did not like 
sloppy copy. He made it a rule to turn in every 
article ready for the printers — heading on, sub- 
heads in their proper places, every page edited, 
even the type marks put on. This habit did him 
many a good turn in after years. 

When Darling came home that night Dick was 
still writing, but he stopped to help eat the late 
supper that always waited on the table. 

“ I hear great news of you, Darling ! ” he 


V 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PREACHER. 185 

shouted as soon as Darling came in ; “ shake, old 
man.” 

“ Thank you,” Darling said without any embarrass- 
ment as he grasped Dick’s hand. “ Then they Ve 
told you, have they? Well, Dick, I don’t wonder 
you ’re a good fellow, to have such a sister.” 

“ Oh, put it the other way about,” Dick laughed ; 
“ that you don’t wonder she ’s so good because she 
has such a brother.” 

“ I have some more news for you, too,” Darling 
went on as they attacked the supper. “ Dr. Goode 
just told me to-night. The old man is going to 
send you on a trip down the Mississippi into the 
Southwest as soon as you have finished your Porto 
Rico stuff ; and do you know I ’m more than half- 
sorry, Dick.” 

“ Well, I don’t know.” He was hardly certain 
whether to feel sorry or glad. “ I ’ve got to be 
doing something, and I suppose I might as well be 
in the Southwest as anywhere.” 

“Yes, as well there as anywhere, if you are away 
from home. But I ’d rather have you at home, 
Dick, for several reasons. This sort of thing can’t 
go on always, you know, making these long trips ; 
it never does, at any rate. A man makes a half- 
dozen or a dozen of them, and then they tire of his 
style or he tires of the traveling or for some other 
reason it comes to an end. You are making hay 
while the sun shines I ’ll admit, but I ’d like to see 


1 86 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

you begin to do something better, something more 
permanent.” 

“ Where do I have the time ? ” Dick interrupted. 
“ I have hardly a minute to myself.” 

“That’s just it,” Darling went on. “You have 
no time to yourself at all. Your Transport articles 
are copied everywhere, your syndicate articles have 
gone all over the country, and your Illustrated 
Weekly story was tip top ; everybody said so. 
Indeed, for such a young fellow you have made 
yourself quite famous already — in a newspaper 
way. But after all, Dick, I ’m more than half- 
inclined to think you would be better off if you 
were doing ordinary city work. Then you would 
have time to lay the foundation for better things.” 

“ I may be doing that now,” Dick replied. 
“ Don’t you see, Darling, this sort of work is my 
only chance to sign my articles. I could n’t sign a 
report of a fire in Canal Street, you know, or the 
flight of a bank cashier or any other city news.” 

“ That ’s true,” Darling admitted. “ Still, I think 
there are better things in store for you than signing 
newspaper articles, if you manage right and prepare 
yourself for them. Your style is very good indeed 
— for a newspaper writer ; bright, I mean, and inter- 
esting and taking. But it lacks finish, Dick, and 
finish you can give it only by reading, which you 
have no time for as things go now. You should 
read Macaulay carefully, both the history and the 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PEE A CHEF. 187 

essays, if only for the sake of the beautiful diction. 
And Scott and Thackeray you must read by all 
means. Of course you have read them, but I mean 
read them as a study, not merely for the sake of 
the story. Read them and study their methods of 
construction, their ways of carrying the reader grace- 
fully from one point to another without sacrificing 
the interest, and of course their wonderful delinea- 
tion of character. 

“The construction of a novel was a natural gift 
to Scott and Thackeray, you will say ; but it was not 
to them any more than it is to others. Their con- 
struction is art, not nature ; but it is such high art 
that the art is concealed and seems to be nature. 
Then you must read Shakespeare, as a matter of 
course ; it will stir you up when you feel sluggish. 
And Burns, Byron, Tennyson, and our best Ameri- 
can poets. And above all things study the Bible. 
You read it for devotional reasons, I suppose, but I 
mean study it carefully as a literary work. Some 
of the books of the Bible contain the grandest 
examples of elegant, concise diction in the language. 
The knowledge always on tap in works of reference 
I suppose you have become familiar with in the 
office.” 

“ Oh, have n’t I ! ” Dick exclaimed. “ I don’t see 
why they did n’t teach me about those things in 
school, but I never knew much about the standard 
works of reference till I went into the Transport 


1 88 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


office. The cyclopaedias tell me something about 
almost any subject ; if I want to know about any 
place in the world the Gazetteer tells me. I want 
to know the date of any important thing that has 
happened and there is Haydn’s Dictionary of Dates, 
or I want to quote a line from some good writer and 
I take down Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations. Dodd’s 
Beauties of Shakespeare is almost equal to a knowl- 
edge of the plays and poems, and if I want to find 
any particular passage in Scripture the Concordance 
points it out to me in a moment. It ’s a good 
education in itself to know where to find these 
things. Then the biographies tell me about all the 
prominent people of the past or present.” 

“ I see you ’ve worked that mine pretty well 1 ” 
Darling laughed. “ But don’t expect to get a 
knowledge of English literature out of the w r orks 
of reference. You don’t want to be a reporter or 
correspondent all your life, naturally, and it is safe 
to assume that you will not make a great poet, 
though you might try your hand at some verses, 
provided you don’t publish them. Then the three 
things nearest you are plays, novels, and short 
stories. There is a great deal of money in a 
successful play ; and with two or three successes a 
writer’s fortune is made.” 

“ I hardly think I could make a play go,” Dick 
answered. “ I have never taken as much interest 
in the theatre as a man ought who undertakes a 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PREACHER. 189 

play, though I am fond of dramatic situations in 
what I write. Between ourselves, Darling, I have 
sometimes thought of trying a novel. I could 
certainly do a better one than some I have read.’’ 

“ The young bird flies high ! ” Darling laughed. 
“ You must not ask yourself whether you can do 
better than a poor novel, but whether you can do as 
well as a good one. Don’t expect to write a Rob 
Roy or a Vanity Fair at the first trial. And don’t 
be everlastingly wondering whether you have 
genius. ‘ Genius is talent well worked,’ Henry 
Ward Beecher told me one day, and I believe it. 
You have some talent, and certainly you have the 
capacity for hard work, so you need not worry 
about genius. If you are going to try novel-writ- 
ing, there is no harm in your traveling for a while, 
for you must become acquainted with different 
people and places or your hands will always be tied. 
Then, if all else fails, a situation in the office is 
always open to a man of your sort — inside the 
office, I mean ; reading copy or the night city 
editorship, or something of that sort.” 

“Oh, don’t mention it!” Dick exclaimed in 
horror. “ A year ago I should have thought that 
grand ; but now I have had a taste of the free life, 
of coming and going at will, of seeing new places 
and new people all the time, and I could not stand 
being shut up in an office, and having a desk that 
I must open at a fixed hour every day and close at 


I 90 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

another fixed hour, with a certain amount of unvary- 
ing drudgery between. I never could stand that 
now, Darling.” 

“ You can stand more than you think,” Darling 
retorted. “It is one of the drawbacks to a re- 
porter’s life, that it is too free. It unfits him for 
any indoor occupation afterward. He becomes a 
sort of civilized wild Indian, a gypsy in evening 
clothes, and longs for his imaginary forest. But 
never mind. If you have determined to try a 
novel, keep your eyes open for good characters and 
good situations, and read whenever you have a 
spare moment. And don’t be too sure that you 
can write a good novel because you can write a 
good newspaper article. There is money and fame 
in novels if you can reach the top notch, but not 
otherwise.” 

In his week of leisure, as he called it, Dick 
finished up all his Porto Rico matter by working 
every day and a large part of every night, and then 
came his instructions for the trip into the Southwest. 

“ We know what travel on the Ohio and Missis- 
sippi rivers meant in old times, before the days of 
railroads,” Mr. Harding told him. “ I want you to 
tell the public what it is now. Go down to Pitts- 
burgh and take a boat down the river. Go to 
Wheeling, to Cincinnati, and so on down the river 
at least to Memphis. There you can cross over 
to Arkansas and make a visit to Hot Springs 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PEE A CHEF. igi 

which is one of the most picturesque towns in this 
country. Then you can take the Red River to New 
Orleans, and from there go on to Key West. 
Telegraph me when you reach Key West, and I will 
either bring you home or send you further instruc- 
tions. I think you will find much material of 
interest. Take your time to it and do your best. 
The winter has been so mild that the rivers are still 
open.” 

Dick climbed into a sleeping-car berth in Jersey 
City at nine o’clock in the evening, and at seven 
o’clock next morning he was in Pittsburgh. 

“There’s article number one,” he said to himself 
as he stepped from the car. “ ‘ A night in a sleep- 
ing-car.’ It ’s so commonplace that people don’t 
write about it, but I think it will make a good story. 
There are always some curious characters in a sleep- 
ing-car, and they are always different.” 

He walked down a long smoky street to the river 
and made inquiries in several shipping offices. Yes, 
there was a boat to sail for Wheeling that afternoon 
at five o’clock ; the Crescent. No boats going far- 
ther than Wheeling, because the water was low. 
But he could go aboard when he liked and make 
himself comfortable. He paid his fare for a state- 
room to Wheeling, for it was an all-night journey; 
and hunted up an express wagon to carry his trunk 
to the boat. No meals on the boat till supper time, 
he was told ; but there were plenty of restaurants. 


192 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


There were curious sights to see in Pittsburgh 
throughout the day, and there were the bridges to 
cross to Allegheny City, and the inclined railway 
to ride on, and many unaccustomed scenes by the 
riverside. He took mental note of them all ; not 
because they interested him specially, but because it 
was his duty. 

It was not at five o’clock that the Crescent started 
for Wheeling, but at nine ; Ohio River boats are 
not express trains. Dick had books in his trunk, 
for he had thought over the conversation with 
Darling and made up his mind to become familiar 
with the best works of the best authors. 

“What a solid old fellow Darling is ! ” he thought 
as he took out a volume of Tennyson and began to 
read. “ And how much better he knows the world 
than I, though I am seeing so much more of it. I 
can see how a man’s ideas enlarge as he grows 
older. Now there was that telegraphing scheme of 
mine. I was determined to learn to send and receive 
a message. That was not many months ago, but 
my mind has changed about it entirely. I should n’t 
think of wasting time over it. Reading will be of 
much more use to me.” 

At two o’clock in the morning, long after Dick had 
laid aside his book and gone to writing, he heard a 
man’s voice on the forward deck of the little stern- 
wheeler. He went out to see what it meant, and got 
his first clear idea of navigating the upper Ohio. 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING PTE A CHEF. 


193 


One man was on the lower deck, forward, taking 
soundings with a pole. Dick could not see him, 
but he heard his constant calling of the depths : 
“ One half ; ” “ One quarter ; ” “ M-a-r-k O-n-e ! ” 
meaning a fathom and a half, a fathom and a quar- 
ter, one fathom. As fast as these calls came, the 
man on the upper deck repeated them to the pilot, 
who was in his house on the highest deck of all 
the “Texas”; and the pilot repeated them too, to 
make sure that he received them correctly. In 
a minute the figures became larger. 

“ Five naif,” came from down below. 

“ Five.” 

“ Four naif.” 

“ Four.” 

“Is that fathoms ? ” Dick asked of the man on 
the upper deck. 

“ Not much ! ” the man answered. “ That ’s feet ! ” 

Almost at the same instant the boat’s bottom 
grazed the sand, and there was a slight jar that 
brought Dick’s Porto Rico experience to mind. 
But it was over in a moment, and the boat went on. 

“That was a tight squeeze ! ” the man exclaimed. 
“Sand bar; the river’s full of ’em. That’s the 
way we get it, when the water’s low. We can’t 
quite travel over a heavy dew with this boat, as 
some people say ; but we ’re all right as long as 
they give us three feet of water.” 

It was about ten o’clock in the morning when the 


194 


THE YOUNG REPORTER , . 


Crescent reached Wheeling, and she went no far- 
ther. Dick immediately began to make inquiries 
for another boat to carry him on to Cincinnati, but 
the prospects were discouraging. 

“’T ain’t likely no boat can get through under 
two or three weeks,” he was told. “ If there should 
come a heavy rain, there might be a boat in four or 
five days ; but that ’s doubtful.” 

That would not do. Although he was to take his 
time, it would not be fair to waste a week or more 
in Wheeling. He inquired about railway trains, 
and finding that a train started for Cincinnati at two 
o’clock he had his trunk transferred to the railway 
station and bought a ticket. 

How slow the boats seemed, when the train was 
under way ! In ten minutes he was crossing the 
river by a bridge that the boat had gone under 
hours before it reached Wheeling. He was in 
Ohio now, and by seven o’clock he should be in 
Columbus ; by one next morning, in Cincinnati. 

There were few passengers in the train ; in Dick’s 
car not more than three or four, and he settled him- 
self comfortably in a corner and fell to reading. 
Suddenly he was roused, after an hour or two, by 
the stopping of the train and the pouring into every 
car of a crowd of people. It was a country town at 
which the train had stopped, and a fair was in 
progress. The people were going home from the 
fair. 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING FEE A CHEF. 195 

In a minute or two Dick’s car, like all the other 
cars in the train, was packed with people. They not 
only occupied every seat, but crowded the aisles. 
There were a few women and children, but most of 
the newcomers were men ; and Dick noticed that 
nearly all of the men were somewhat under the 
influence of liquor. 

The train had not gone more than two or three 
miles after leaving the station before two of the men 
who stood in the aisle directly by the side of Dick’s 
seat began to quarrel, and from quarreling they soon 
went on to fighting. After a few blows with their 
fists they drew knives and began to lunge at each 
other. In a minute the friends of the two men 
joined in the fracas, some on one side and some on 
the other, and the fight became general. Many of 
the other men drew knives, several shots were fired } 
the women and children screamed, and the whole 
car was in an uproar. The worst of the fight was 
almost directly over Dick’s head. 

“ Gentlemen, you ’ll have to stop this or get off 
the train ! ” the conductor shouted as he entered the 
car. 

But he might as well have talked to the waves of 
the sea. Half the men were fighting, and the others 
seemed unconcerned. The conductor pulled the 
bell-rope to stop the train, and went out to summon 
the train hands to his assistance. Before he reached 
the door his foot slipped ; and Dick, looking down, 


196 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


saw that he had slipped in a pool of blood. Some- 
body had been cut. One man had been pushed 
through a window and held so far out that Dick 
was afraid his head would strike a telegraph pole. 
Three or four seats just opposite Dick had been 
ripped out and lay overturned on the floor. 

Just as the train stopped, the conductor entered 
the car at the other end, accompanied by several 
train hands. As he entered, a man who had been 
in the car all the way from Wheeling, stood up and 
spoke to him. Dick noticed that the man was very 
large ; well over six feet high, and broad in propor- 
tion ; and that he wore good black clothes. 

“Conductor,” said the big man in a loud voice, 
“you must stop this riot. I call on you to stop the 
fighting in this car.” 

“ I can’t do it,” the conductor replied ; “ I have n’t 
men enough on the train to stop it.” 

“Then call on your passengers!” the big man 
shouted ; “ you are entitled to call on the passengers 
to assist you.” 

“ Very well,” said the conductor, as though he 
would clinch the argument on the spot ; “ I call on 
you ! ” 

The big man had not another word to waste. 
Evidently he was a man of action, and all he wanted 
was the summons from the conductor that gave him 
a legal right to participate. He pulled off his black 
coat and threw it upon the seat, laid his hat on top 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING TEE A CHEF. 


197 


of it, pulled up his sleeves, and “ sailed into ” the 
crowd of fighters with the energy of a battering- 
ram. 

It was a giant among pygmies. With every blow 
of the powerful fists one or two of the fighters went 
down. The Ohioans were so surprised at the single- 
handed onslaught that they hardly struck back. 
Down they went, one after another and in bunches, 
and the thud, thud of the sturdy blows came harder 
and faster. When the big man reached the door at 
Dick’s end of the car there was hardly a fighter left 
on his feet. 

The big man had quelled the riot and made a 
score of sore heads, but he did not stop there. He 
gathered up the fellows who were nearest the door, 
two and three at a time, and threw them bodily out 
of the car. At this there was a wild rush for 
the opposite end by all who were able to walk, and 
in no time all the fighters were out. The conductor 
pulled the rope and the train started, leaving the 
rioters quarreling and fighting by the side of the 
track. The big man walked quietly back to his seat 
and put on his coat and hat. 

“ Well, that was the most beautiful piece of pugil- 
ism and pluck I ever saw in my life,” Dick said to 
himself. “To think of one unarmed man pitching 
into this whole crowd, where nearly every man had 
a knife in his hand, and thrashing the whole lot of 
them in a minute, just with his fists. Why, it was 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


superb. He looks like an uncommon man, too ; I 
must find out who he is.” 

Dick went back to the seat adjoining the big 
man’s and spoke to him. 

“ You did that beautifully, sir,” he said. “ I am 
a newspaper man, and if you have no objections I 
should be glad to know your name.” 

The big man turned around with a pleasant smile 
on his face, and without showing the least sign of 
the recent conflict. 

“ Certainly, young man,” he said ; “you are wel- 
come to know my name, if you desire it. My name 
is Cook — Joseph Cook.” 

“ What ! ” Dick exclaimed before he could stop 
himself, “ not the Rev. Joseph Cook, the celebrated 
clergyman and lecturer ? ” 

“ If you leave that word ‘ celebrated ’ out,” Mr. 
Cook replied, “ I will own up to all the rest. Yes; 
I am the Rev. Joseph Cook, clergyman, lecturer. 

“You see,” he went on, turning further around 
so that he faced Dick, “ I am billed to lecture in 
Columbus at eight o’clock this evening. That was 
why I did n’t want the train delayed by that crowd 
of drunken ruffians. The conductor and his train- 
men could have stopped the riot very readily if they 
had had any courage. But the quickest way was 
just to stop it myself, though I am afraid we are 
going to be late now, for we are more than an hour 
behind time.” 


DICK MEETS A FIGHTING FEE A CHEF. igg 

“Whew!” Dick said to himself, “this is news. 
I shall have to stop off* at Columbus and telegraph 
this.” His old news instinct was aroused in a 
moment. He had not done any telegraphing to 
the Transport for some time, for such matters as 
letters from Mexico and Porto Rico go always by 
mail, not by telegraph. But for a man of the 
prominence of the Rev. Joseph Cook to put down 
such a riot single-handed, that was genuine news 
and must reach the office at once. 

He continued the conversation with Mr. Cook 
and listened to some very interesting anecdotes, and 
talked with the conductor and several of the train- 
men, and by the time they reached Columbus, not 
much before nine o’clock, he had well in mind the 
story that was soon to be written and telegraphed. 

The car was in such disorder, with its blood- 
stains, broken glass, and torn-out seats, that at 
Columbus it was taken out of the train and sent to 
the railroad hospital for repairs. The lecture com- 
mittee had learned by telegraph of the lateness of the 
train, and they had held the audience in the Opera 
House till Mr. Cook arrived. A carriage was waiting 
at the station for the lecturer, and he was driven at 
breakneck speed to the Opera House with Dick 
sitting by his side. 

Dick soon had a seat at the reporter’s table, 
where he found every facility for writing, and where 
he immediately felt as much at home among the 


200 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


reporters of Columbus as though he had been in 
the Academy of Music in New York. But, like an 
experienced newspaper man, he told the other 
reporters nothing about the riot in the train. That 
was his own news, and too good to share with 
anybody. 

It was not a report of the lecture that Dick wrote 
while Mr. Cook was speaking ; it was an account 
of Mr. Cook’s adventure. And before the lecture 
was finished he slipped out and carried to the tele- 
graph office a column-long account of the one-sided 
battle. By the time that the last of it reached the 
Transport office he was aboard the midnight train 
for Cincinnati. 

“That’s a jolly beginning for a new trip!” he 
said to himself as he pulled the thick sleeping-car 
blankets over him. “ If every day turns out as well 
I ’ll be in luck.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE “HOODOOED” STEAMBOAT. 

T^ARLY on a Friday morning the train landed 
Dick in Cincinnati ; and after eating break- 
fast in the railway restaurant he went down to the 
river front to look for a boat. The river was much 
larger than at Pittsburgh or Wheeling, but he was 
disappointed in the boats. He had read of the 
palatial Ohio and Mississippi steamboats running 
to New Orleans, with their luxurious cabins, hun- 
dreds of passengers, bands playing, cargo on all the 
decks. But, as far as he could see, in Cincinnati 
there was no boat to equal even the third-rate 
boats of the Hudson River. They were all stern 
wheelers, large enough but clumsy in shape, with 
their passenger accommodations all on the upper 
deck, which was supported by posts that looked 
entirely too small for the weight. On every boat 
the whole lower deck was open, exposing to view 
the engines and all the machinery. 

The Belle of the River, one of the largest of the 
Ohio River boats, was to start for New Orleans that 
afternoon, and Dick determined to take passage in 
her, at any rate as far as Memphis. The fare to 
Memphis, he learned, was only twelve dollars, 


201 


202 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


including meals and stateroom, and the voyage might 
be made in a week, or it might take three times as 
long, according to circumstances. He could not buy 
a ticket, as he was in the habit of doing at home. 
There was a clerk in the little office on board ; and 
the clerk kept a register in which each passenger 
wrote his name, just as in a hotel, and opposite the 
name the clerk wrote the passenger’s destination 
and the amount paid. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t start with you for anything, 
captain ! ” he heard one of the ladies of a large party 
say to the captain later in the day, when he had his 
trunk on board and was settled in his stateroom. 
“What in the world makes you start on a Friday? 
Such an unlucky day. We’re going to take the 
train to Louisville in the morning, and go on board 
there. None of us would think of starting on a 
journey on Friday.” 

“There’s a point!” Dick said to himself. “I 
wonder whether people are more superstitious down 
this way than they are at home. I must keep an 
eye open for that.” 

He had a chance to see more of it before he 
started. There were fifteen or twenty passengers 
that he saw or heard of, and perhaps more that 
he knew nothing about, who would not start on 
Friday, but waited to take the morning train and 
catch the boat at Louisville. And of those who 
did go many spoke of the unlucky day, and 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 


203 

hoped that something would delay the boat until 
Saturday. 

Naturally Dick laughed at this folly ; for a bright 
newspaper man has no superstitions about Friday 
or anything else. It is not luck that he relies upon, 
but pluck. 

“ They must be ignorant, or they ’d know better,” 
he said to himself. “ I notice, too, that none of 
the passengers look as though they had much 
money to spare ; and from what they say I think 
they travel by boat only because it is cheap. They 
don't seem to think it possible that a man should 
go in the boat if he has money enough to go by 
rail.” 

There were thirty or forty passengers on board at 
the start, Friday or no Friday; but Dick saw very 
little of them on the first night. He had an article 
to write ; and he shut himself up in his stateroom. 

After breakfast next morning there was a commo 
tion in the cabin. One of the colored stewards was 
talking loudly in front of the clerk’s office, and the 
clerk was trying to pacify him. Dick stepped up to 
see what it was about. 

“He’s been drinking, that’s all,” the clerk ex- 
plained. “ I suppose he has found a bottle of 
liquor in one of the staterooms he cleans, and has 
helped himself. You go on about your work now,” 
he added to the colored man, “ and keep quiet.” 

But instead of keeping quiet he became more 


204 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


boisterous than ever and began to swear at the 
clerk. 

“ Here, George ! Henry ! Thomas ! Take this 
man away from here ! ” the clerk called to a number 
of waiters about the table. “Take him down on 
the lower deck till he cools off.” In a minute a half- 
dozen of them, all colored, surrounded the man. 

Suddenly the waiters all sprang back in alarm. 
The man had thrust his hand under his shirt bosom, 
and Dick expected to see him draw out a knife. 
But when the hand came out it had only a little 
round packet about the size of a very small egg, 
covered with brownish cloth, much handled, and 
dirty-looking. 

The negro waiters could hardly have shown as 
much alarm if the man had drawn a knife. They 
shrank back in fear ; it seemed to Dick that they 
actually turned pale ; the teeth of some of them 
chattered. 

“ He got de rabbit foot ! ” one of them exclaimed. 

“He a Hoodoo, boss!” another cried: “’t ain’t 
safe to tech him. I would n’t lay hands on him fer 
no money.” 

Dick was becoming very much interested. He 
had heard of the negroes carrying a rabbit’s foot for 
a charm, and of their Hoodoo nonsense, but he had 
never expected to have the good luck to see it so 
soon. 

“ Stan’ back ! ” the half-drunken man shouted, 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 


205 


waving the little package in the air. He had sense 
enough left to see that the other waiters were afraid 
of him and to take advantage of the fact. “ Stan’ 
back ! I ’ll work de rabbit’s foot on any man w’at 
comes near me.” 

The clerk sent a boy in a hurry after the two 
mates, and in a minute they appeared — big, brawny, 
white men. They had no fear of the rabbit’s foot, 
and they seized the man and hustled him out of the 
cabin and down the companionway, Dick and many 
of the other passengers following. 

The man was still abusive, but he was released 
on the lower deck ; and he went immediately to the 
boiler and began to warm his little packet. He 
held it first one side toward the hot boiler, then the 
other, and turned it round and round. 

“ He warmin’ de rabbit foot! ” Dick heard one of 
the black roustabouts say in an alarmed tone. 
“He’ll do mischief, dat man will.” 

In a few minutes, perhaps when the rabbit’s foot 
was warm enough to be in good working order, the 
man walked back to the two mates, who were still 
watching him. 

“ I pay you off for dis ! ” he shouted. “ I sink 
dis boat wid de rabbit foot, I will. I kill you yet.” 

In a second the first mate had the man by the 
throat and half-doubled him backward. 

“ That ’s what I ’ve been waiting for ! ”* the mate 
exclaimed ; “I just wanted you to threaten some- 


20 6 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


body. Now I ’ll put you and your rabbit’s foot out 
of harm. Get me a rope, somebody.” 

The man was quickly tied hand and foot and 
fastened to a stanchion, and in the scuffle the little 
packet was knocked from his hand. Dick picked 
it up. 

“ Oh, gimme back me rabbit’s foot ! ” the man 
whined. His pluck was all gone, now that he had 
lost his charm. “ Please, boss, gim it back ter me.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” Dick laughed. “ It’s too dangerous 
for you to carry. It ’s warm, too, and there ’s no 
telling what damage it might do.” 

Not one of the black deck hands would approach 
the packet. They held aloof; even some of the 
passengers lookecl alarmed when Dick took out his 
penknife and opened the blade. 

“ Don’t you do it ! ” one of them advised. 
“ ’T ain’t well to fool with them things.” 

“ No, don’t cut it open,” another said. “ Some 
harm’ll come to you, sure, if you do.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” Dick exclaimed. “ No wonder 
these poor colored men are superstitious, if you 
white men encourage them in this way.” 

Without more ado he ripped open the packet 
with his knife. There were many wrappings under 
the brown cloth — first a layer of oiled silk, then 
one of flannel ; but the interior was soon reached. 
There in the centre lay the wonderful charms : — 

A rabbit’s foot with hair and claws all complete. 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 


207 


Half of a gold ring. 

A lock of straight black hair, tied with a string. 
And — 

Four small pieces of broken glass. 

“It don’t look very dangerous, does it?” Dick 
asked ; and he tossed the packet over the boat’s 
side into the river. 

Several times that morning he heard colored men 
on board prophesying evil because the man had 
“ hoodooed de boat ” ; and some of the white passen- 
gers sagely shook their heads. Just as the boat 
was approaching Louisville, half an hour before 
noon, when Dick was in his stateroom, the light 
mulatto boy who waited upon him entered the room. 

“If I was you, I’d leave dis boat at Louisville, 
boss,” the boy said. “I’d git off here if I could, 
but I ’se shipped for de voyage. De boat ’s boun’ 
to come to some harm, suah ! Dat feller he hoodoo 
her ; he wo’k de rabbit foot on her, and somethin’ 
goin’ to happen.” 

“All right, George,” Dick laughingly replied; 
“ that ’s just in my line of business. If anything 
happens to the boat, I must be here to see it, so 
I ’ll stay on board.” 

The stop kept the boat at Louisville for more 
than an hour. The “ Hoodoo man ” was released 
and put ashore with a warning not to come back, 
and the thirty or forty passengers whose fear of 
starting on Friday had led them to take the train, 


208 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


joined the boat. By half-past one she was on her 
way down the river again. 

“That was a good incident, that Hoodoo man,” 
Dick said to himself; “ I was lucky to see it.” He 
did not know that the incident was only begun. 

“ Don’t you want to go up on the Texas deck? ” 
one of the passengers asked him — a pleasant-faced 
young fellow in a red flannel shirt. “ We ’ll be 
going over the falls in a minute or two, and it’s 
worth seeing.” 

Together they went up to the Texas, the highest 
deck of all, many feet above water, where a number 
of men were already standing. 

The falls of the Ohio at Louisville might more 
properly be called rapids, for they stretch out over 
half a mile or more. When the water is high they 
are almost obliterated ; but in low water they become 
a raging, roaring descent, studded with dangerous 
rocks. While the boat was rushing through this 
rapid Dick felt several sharp bumps against the 
bottom ; but they were different from the bumps he 
had felt at Porto Rico or anywhere else, and he 
attached no importance to them. 

Five minutes afterward, with the boat still in the 
rapids, several newcomers ran rapidly up to the 
Texas and began to watch a boat that was putting 
out from the Kentucky shore. Dick looked too 
and as soon as the boat was near enough to be seen 
plainly, he watched with great interest. 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 


209 


For it was no ordinary boat that was coming out 
toward them at great speed. Painted white, her 
brass mountings glistened in the sun. Her eight 
oarsmen pulled with the strength and precision of 
man-of-war’s men. The man at the tiller was in 
uniform, and all the men wore blue caps. It was 
a pretty sight, that handsome boat so excellently 
handled. 

“ What boat is that coming out?” Dick asked one 
of the newcomers. 

“That is the life-saving crew from Louisville,” the 
man replied. 

“The life-saving crew!” Dick repeated; “and 
what are they coming out here for ? ” 

“ Don’t you know we ’re sinking ? ” the man 
asked. “The hold is half-full of water now. The 
life savers must have seen us strike the rocks five 
minutes ago, and they ’re coming out to our assist- 
ance. Oh, it ’s a fine thing, that life-saving service ! 
If the boat goes down in deep water, they ’ll find 
some way to get us all ashore. Just see them come ! ” 

Dick and his red-shirted companion hurried down 
to the deck below them, and there everything was in 
confusion. Women and children were screaming, 
and several women had fainted. Men were rushing 
about after life preservers and gathering up their 
valuables. The boat’s whistle had begun to blow 
continuously, and the horrible racket added to the 
excitement. 


210 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Now don’t get excited ! ” the clerk was shouting, 
in a way little adapted to calm the passengers’ fears. 
“ The life-saving crew is right alongside of us, and 
they ’ll get us all off. Keep cool, ladies ; keep cool.” 

“ How deep is the water here at the foot of the 
falls ? ” Dick asked the clerk. 

“ Sixty feet ! ” was the whispered reply ; “ deepest 
place on the river.” 

Dick started for the lower deck, but on the way he 
nearly ran into a woman with two little girls and no 
man to help her. They had secured a life preserver 
somewhere, and the woman was frantically trying to 
fasten it to the smaller girl. He instantly brought 
his good sense to bear for the relief of the frightened 
family. 

“ Let me show you how to fasten that, madam,” 
he said as coolly as though he were talking about 
strapping a valise ; and he drew up a chair and 
sat down and took the little girl on his knee. “ Not 
that you ’re going to need it now,” he went on, “ but 
it ’s as well to understand these things. We are not 
in any danger ; and anyhow I shall stay right here 
by you and take care of you. You sit down on 
the other knee” (to the larger child) “there; now 
you ’re just as safe as if papa had you, for I could swim 
this river a dozen times without losing my breath.” 

A hundred shouts of “ Keep cool ” and “ Don’t be 
excited ” could not have quieted the little family as 
Dick’s quiet, confident manner did. 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT . 


21 I 


“ Two steamboats have got us ! ” somebody cried 
at the after end of the cabin ; “ one on each side 
of us.” 

This caused a rush to the forward and after decks, 
and the passengers saw that a big steamboat was 
made fast on each side. The whistling had called 
them to the sinking boat’s assistance, and they were 
helping her to a shallow place of safety. The life- 
saving crew were on board, too ; and they helped 
give the people confidence. Now that any one who 
chose could step to the deck of one of the other 
boats, nobody cared to go. 

Slowly the three boats together moved toward the 
Kentucky shore ; and when they were close by the 
lower end of the canal by which boats avoid the falls 
in going up the river, one of them let go and drew 
ahead, and the other pushed the Belle of the River 
close against the rocky shore. 

She had hardly lain there two minutes before 
down she went to the very bottom with all on 
board. But fortunately the bottom of the river was 
not more than two feet below the bottom of the 
boat, for it was a shallow flat that had been selected 
to let her sink in ; and when she rested upon the 
mud the water did not reach her lower deck. 

“ I knew it ! I knew it ! ” cried Dick’s woman 
with the two little girls. “I just felt it in my 
bones that something was going to happen when 
we started on a Friday. 1 don’t know what ever 


2 12 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


possessed me to do it. And when that negro man 
hoodooed the boat, that just finished us.” 

“You must not think so, madam,” Dick replied. 
“The current carried us slightly out of the channel 
and we struck a rock. Our starting on a Friday 
had nothing whatever to do with it ; and certainly 
you cannot believe that an ignorant negro could 
bewitch the boat with a rabbit’s foot. That is too 
ridiculous to think of.” 

Before the woman could say anything further two 
men walked through the cabin talking. “I’m going 
to take my family ashore just as soon as they get 
out a gangplank,” one of them was saying. “ That 
coon hoodooed the boat, and she ’ll have nothing but 
bad luck.” 

Dick went down to the lower deck and found 
the negroes in a great state of excitement. There 
was not one of them but believed that the acci- 
dent had been caused by the man with the rabbit’s 
foot. 

“ I ’m a-gwine to sneak first chance I gits,” he 
heard one of the roustabouts say to another; “no 
hoodooed boat for me ! ” 

“ I ’m almost sorry this thing happened,” Dick 
said to himself, “though it’s all in the way of 
business for me. Nothing in the world will ever 
convince half of these people that the boat was not 
bewitched by that steward. I suppose it ’s in some 
such way as this that most wonderful stories 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 2 13 

originate. But I did n’t imagine that intelligent 
white people could believe in such nonsense.” 

There was too much going on, however, for him 
to spend much time thinking about the coinci- 
dence. The Belle of the River was still whistling, 
and one boat after another came to her assistance, 
till there were six or eight alongside. As they all 
burned soft coal, their smoke soon made the air 
almost unbearable. 

“Well, that’s an idea!” Dick exclaimed as he 
watched the proceedings. “ A fellow can learn 
something every day, if he keeps his eyes open.” 

• A man had been down in the hold and had found 
a ragged hole six feet long and about four feet wide 
in the boat’s bottom ; but as she rested in the mud 
the hole was temporarily stopped and no more 
water could flow in. It was the suction pipes that 
caused Dick’s exclamation. Each of the helping 
boats got out a big hose and ran one end into the 
Belle’s hold, while the other end was attached to 
their steam pumps. When they all began to pump 
they brought the water out in a hurry, and soon had 
the hold dry 

“ Now they ’ll build a bulkhead around the hole,” 
the clerk said to Dick as he stood and watched ; 
“ a big square box ; and first they ’ll lay in a lot of 
mattresses and pillows off the beds, and then layers 
of mud and stones, and put a good stout plank cover 
over it. That will keep us afloat till we get to 


214 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Paducah. There ’s a marine railway at Paducah, 
and we ’ll make repairs there. Say,” he added in 
a lower voice, “ do you think the coon really had 
anything to do with it ? ” 

Dick was too much disgusted to give a serious 
reply. 

“Undoubtedly!” he said. “I don’t think the 
rabbit’s foot alone could have done it ; but when 
you combine the foot with a bit of gold ring, certain 
atomic forces are liberated which are difficult to 
control. Then by adding three or four bits of old 
glass, the isothermal pressure becomes tremendous. 
A lock of hair of course increases the equilibrium 
in the proportion of the hypothenuse of a right- 
angled triangle. But we were very lucky, after all. 
That was only a forefoot of a rabbit. If it had 
been a hindfoot, we ’d all been drowned, sure.” 

“ That ’s just my opinion of it,” the clerk replied, 
seriously shaking his head ; and Dick moved away. 

The process of building a bulkhead was easily 
described, but the work itself took more than 
twenty-four hours, and the boat lay close to the 
Kentucky shore till early on Monday morning. A 
plank was laid from the upper deck to the rocky 
bluff on shore, and all who chose were at liberty to 
go ashore and spend the time in Louisville, only 
three or four miles away. 

But Dick was too busy for that. He was trying 
hard to “ keep up with his facts,” as he put it ; 


THE “HOODOOED" STEAMBOAT. 2 ig 

and he spent much of the time in his stateroom 
writing. 

“ I ’d like to know why it is,” he said to himself, 
“ that something unusual happens wherever I go. 
Is it because I ’m on the lookout for such things, I 
wonder? Or do I have better luck than most 
correspondents ? First, a riot in the cars put down 
by a celebrated preacher, then a bewitched steam- 
boat, and now a little shipwreck. Why, I could n’t 
have done better so far if I ’d managed the program 
myself. But if this thing keeps on, Mr. Dick 
Sumner, you ’re going to run into an accident some 
day that will put a sudden end to your newspaper 
writing.” 

Slowly the boat made her way down the river, 
stopping at all the principal towns to take in cargo. 
Furniture, wagons, sash and blinds, bales of hay, 
bags of feed — a thousand different things were taken 
aboard till all the deck room was filled, and even the 
Texas deck was piled up high, making the boat look 
twice as large as she had looked before. Sometimes 
the stop was only for two or three hours, at others 
it lasted all day or all night. There was no pre- 
tence of hurry. 

Dick would have caught up easily with his facts 
in this slow journey, only new facts, new subjects 
for articles, were accumulating all the time. The 
passengers he thought were worthy of a letter to 
themselves ; many of the river towns were worth 


216 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


describing. He could not turn in any direction 
without adding new material. The young fellows 
who wore flannel shirts and carried guns, and there 
were fifteen or more of them, were “ swampers,” he 
learned. Having finished their summer and fall 
work on northern farms, they were on their way to 
the Red River swamps in Louisiana to cut cypress 
timber, and late in the spring they would return. 
Of course they were full of good stories and Dick 
gathered them all in. 

One night these swampers gave Dick a capital 
story. The wooded shore on the north was in Illi- 
nois, on the other side lay Kentucky. It was a 
bright moonlight night and every mark in the river 
was plain as day. But for some reason the captain 
decided to stop for the night, and he took the boat 
close up to the Illinois shore and tied her, bow and 
stern, to two immense chestnut trees. 

“ What ’s the matter, captain ? ” Dick asked. 
“ Why don’t you go on ? ” 

“ Oh, we might as well give the old thing a 
rest!” was the only reason the captain cared to 
give. 

The swampers decided that it was exactly the 
proper sort of night for a coon hunt, and southern 
Illinois exactly the proper place. They got out a 
plank and went ashore and built a rousing bon- 
fire, around which they sat and played their fiddles 
and sang songs till midnight. When they started 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 21 J 

on the hunt Dick borrowed a gun and went with 
them, for he was acquainted with them all. 

“That’s article number nine,” he said to himself 
when he returned. “ Coon Hunt in Illinois. Odd 
duty for a New York reporter, too, to go coon hunt- 
ing in Illinois.” 

On the eleventh day after leaving Cincinnati, the 
Belle of the River reached Paducah, Kentucky, and 
Dick had his first opportunity to see the working of 
a marine railway. There was a hill rising from the 
river, and at the top of the hill a long shed in which 
immense wooden cylinders were revolved by an 
engine. Wooden tracks reached some distance up 
the hill, and great iron chains ran down to the water, 
the upper ends being made fast to the cylinders. 

These chains were fastened around the boat, and 
when the cylinders revolved they were wound up 
and drew the boat sideways out of the water. Out 
she came, with crew, freight, and passengers all on 
board ; not only out of the water, but twenty or 
thirty feet up the hill, where the workmen could 
reach her bottom to repair her. 

This was not done at once, however. Another 
boat was in the way at first, and two days passed 
before Dick’s boat was raised. Then two more 
days dragged along without any sign of the repairs 
beginning. The delay gave Dick a grand chance 
to write, but he soon began to feel that he was 
wasting the Transport’s time. 


218 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


“ How long will it take to repair the boat, after 
they begin ? ” he asked the captain. 

“ Not more than two or three days,” was the 
answer. 

“ And when will they begin ? ” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t wonder if they’d begin to- 
morrow or next day.” 

“That’s too slow for me!” Dick exclaimed. 
“ I ’ll have to leave you, captain, and finish the 
journey to Memphis by rail. I believe there is 
a railroad from here to Memphis.” 

He went ashore and made inquiries in Paducah, 
and found that there was a train for Memphis at 
seven in the evening. By bedtime he was bowling 
across Kentucky in a railway car, through endless 
cotton fields, with the withered cotton stalks stand- 
ing like skeleton sentinels in the moonlight. At 
two o'clock in the morning he was in Memphis. 

“Any restaurants open at this time of night?” 
he asked of the solitary “ cabby ” outside the station. 

“ Plenty of them, sir,” the man replied ; “ step 
right in and I ’ll take you to one.” 

The train for Little Rock started at six, so he 
had four hours to eat his supper and take a look at 
Memphis by moonlight. He had been “ roughing 
it” so long on the boat that the sight of paved 
streets and substantial city houses seemed almost 
strange. At half-past five he was in the Little 
Rock train with some vague, shadowy impressions 


THE “ HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 2tQ 

of Memphis in his mind. What was clearest to him 
was a high bluff, and at the foot of the bluff a broad 
sheet of silver that narrowed down to a ribbon in 
the distance. The silver ribbon was the Mississippi 
River by moonlight. 

Dick’s train was ferried across the river on a large 
steamboat, and soon after daylight the journey 
across the eastern part of Arkansas began. It was 
a hundred miles of dismal swamp, the railroad run- 
ning on an embankment through the swamp. Here 
and there were log cabins, inhabited by people with 
skins turned deep yellow by their diet of salt pork, 
quinine, and vile whiskey. This at least was the 
train conductor’s explanation of their remarkable 
color. 

“They have one advantage over the rest of us,” 
Dick exclaimed with a shudder ; “ they must be 
awfully glad to die ! ” 

At Forest City the train began to ascend to 
higher lands, and the young correspondent soon 
had his first look at a prairie. It was miles and 
miles across, without a fence or a tree. But there 
were some cultivated fields and comfortable homes 
that were a relief after the depressing swamp. 

At Little Rock, Dick changed to the Iron Moun- 
tain train that was to carry him to Malsem, where 
he must change again to a little narrow-gauge road 
for the Hot Springs. There were only men in his 
car in the Iron Mountain train ; men mostly of the 


220 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


cowboy, “dead drop 55 sort; and all the conversa- 
tion he heard around him was about shooting and 
fighting. 

“ I’d ’a’ licked that feller in less than two minutes, 
if they had n’t ’a’ pulled me off,” he heard a one- 
eyed man in the seat in front of him say. 

“ I had the dead drop on him, an’ he knowed it ! ” 
came from the seat behind. 

“Well,” Dick quietly laughed to himself ; “ here’s 
another phase of the great American people. I ’ve 
left the superstitious ones and now I ’ve fallen in 
with the fighters. But if they shoot and fight as 
much as they talk about it, I wonder that any of 
them are still alive.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 

A RE you going over to Hot Springs ? ” 

It was decidedly the most civilized-looking 
man in the car who sat down beside Dick and asked 
the question. He was a young man of twenty-eight 
or thirty, who proved afterward to be a cotton 
planter from Georgia. 

“ Can you tell me of a good place to stay there ? ” 
the stranger went on, after Dick had answered his 
question in the affirmative. “ I have never been 
there and know nothing about the place.” 

“ I have never been there either,” Dick answered. 
“ I only know that the Arlington is the largest 
hotel, and I shall go there for a few days at any rate, 
till I can look about.” 

He was glad for the company of the young cotton 
planter, for the only drawback to the journey so far 
had been want of suitable companionship. The 
captain and clerk of the boat and some of the 
swampers were good fellows in their way, but they 
and Dick had few interests in common. 

“ If only I could have Darling or Jack Randall or 
some of the other fellows with me ! ” he often said 
to himself. “ There are so many odd things to see; 


221 


222 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


but it half-spoils the pleasure to have to see them 
alone.” 

Late in the afternoon Dick and the cotton planter 
were settled in good rooms in the Arlington Hotel, 
and before supper they went out to the broad front 
piazza together to see what they could of the town. 
While they sat there a brass band marched down the 
street, playing lively airs. 

“ I wish they ’d keep Mose Harrison in jail all the 
time,” one of the other guests said to Dick, “ so the 
music would last.” 

“Who is Mose Harrison?” Dick asked; “and 
what has his being in jail to do with the music?” 

“ Oh, you ’ve just come, have you ? ” the man 
answered. “ Well, you see Mose Harrison is the 
editor of The Daily Horseshoe, and he ’s in jail for 
thirty days for libel. The jail ’s down at the other 
end of town, and Mose’s friends have hired the band 
to go down there every evening and give him a 
serenade. He ’ll be out in two or three days now.” 

“ I think Mose Harrison is a man for me to 
meet ! ” Dick said to himself. Then turning to the 
planter he asked : — 

“What do you think of Hot Springs, so far? 
Rather a lively place, is n’t it, where a prisoner in 
jail is serenaded every evening? There are more 
cowboys and sombreros and spurs in the streets than 
I ever saw before.” 

“It’s wonderful what a newspaper head Mr. 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


223 


Harding has ! ” he could not help thinking. “ It 
looked to me like a dry subject, coming down the 
river into Arkansas to write letters. But the old 
man knew what he was about. This place alone is 
worth making the journey for. It is full of queer 
people from all over the Southwest, and it is sure to 
give me some good stories. The situation of the 
town is a novelty itself, lying here in a deep valley 
between two high mountains, the valley hardly five 
hundred feet wide. Then the hot springs boiling 
out of one of the mountains and the steaming 
water running off in a steaming creek through the 
main street.” 

The way good subjects were coming to him lifted 
a little weight from Dick’s mind, for he had not felt 
altogether sure about his letters. He had written 
two sets of very successful letters over his signature, 
and so established a standard that he must maintain. 
If these, articles from the Southwest fell flat, the 
newspaper world would say: “Oh, it was only a 
spurt. Sumner did some good things once, but he 
has written himself out.” The subjects were too 
good, however ; he had no fear now of making a 
failure. 

As he intended to make something of a stay in 
Hot Springs, to become familiar with the place and 
its people, Dick soon began to look about for a more 
retired place than the hotel. He found it in a large 
brick and iron building called the Douglas and 


224 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Johnson block, fronting upon the main street. 
There were stores underneath, and up one flight of 
broad iron stairs were large and comfortable rooms 
to let. Two of the rooms were vacant, and Dick 
took one and the cotton planter the other. Several 
good restaurants in the neighborhood were open at 
all hours. 

On the second day after he was settled in his new 
quarters Dick took a walk up the main street, past 
the stores and saloons and gambling houses, to 
inspect a new quarter of the city. Immediately 
behind him as he walked was a large, handsomely 
dressed man, so close that he might easily have 
touched Dick’s back. The man was taking slightly 
longer steps than Dick, and so was gaining upon 
him ; and when they were directly opposite the 
Arlington Hotel he stepped a little to one side, 
intending to pass Dick. 

Dick would have sprung forward in haste if he 
had been able to see even five seconds into the 
future. But not having that faculty, and paying no 
attention to the man who was almost by his side, 
he went quietly on. 

Crash ! There came the crack of a rifle, the 
whiz of a bullet within six inches of Dick’s head, 
the crash of broken glass, and the man by his side 
fell heavily against Dick and dropped to the pave- 
ment. 

Instantly there was a rush of men from the 


THE « HOODOOED ” STEAMBOAT. 225 

neighboring stores, and the prostrate man was 
picked up and carried into a drug store, Dick 
helping. 

“ It ’s no use,” said the druggist after making a 
hasty examination. “ The bullet has gone through 
his brain, and he ’s dead as a door-nail. What he 
needs is a coroner, gentlemen ; a doctor ’s no use 
now.” 

The murder caused very little excitement, but 
everybody in the city knew what it meant, and 
everybody was willing to tell Dick all about it. The 
murdered man was a gambler who a few days 
before had had an altercation with another gambler 
named Tom Davis. Tom Davis had sworn to have 
revenge, and to bring it about he had taken a room in 
the Arlington Hotel — a front room — and stationed 
himself in it with a rifle and waited patiently for 
the other man to pass. When the man passed on 
the opposite side of the street he had fired and 
killed him, and then disappeared, without stopping 
to inquire what damage might have been done to 
Dick’s head, only six inches away. 

*“ I suppose it ’s lucky for me that Tom Davis is 
a dead shot ! ” Dick reflected. “ That bullet cer- 
tainly was not a foot from my ear.” 

That night he sat in his room writing, as he did 
every night, when he heard a heavy thud, thud, 
thud on the iron stairs that made him pause and 
listen. 


226 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


“ There must be a troop of cavalry coming up- 
stairs ! ” he exclaimed. 

Tramp, tramp! If they were men, there were 
many of them, and all in heavy boots. 

The sound came nearer and nearer ; up the stairs, 
into the wide hall floored with iron and glass, and 
stopped, as it seemed to Dick, directly in front of 
his door. All was still for a moment, and he heard 
a whispered consultation outside ; then came a 
heavy knock upon the door. 

Wondering what it could all mean, Dick stepped 
to the door and opened it ; and in a second he found 
himself looking into the barrel of a cocked revolver. 

It was the first time he had ever had a revolver 
pointed directly at his head ; and it was not six inches 
away. Before he had time to feel alarmed he saw 
that the man who held it was in uniform, and that 
six men who stood in line behind him with rifles in 
their hands were also in uniform. They were 
policemen. 

There was security in those blue uniforms ; such 
security that Dick, with the revolver still in his face, 
began to smile at the ludicrous situation. 

“ You have the drop on me ! ” he exclaimed. 
“Here, take my watch and pocketbook. It’s all 
I have.” 

The man in front did not answer, but began to 
look past Dick into the room, as though searching 
for some one. 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 227 

“Walk in, gentlemen,” Dick said; “just keep 
your thumb on the hammer of that pistol, will you ? 
those things sometimes go off. Perhaps he ’s here, 
whoever you are looking for. If he is, I ’ll be 
obliged to you if you ’ll take him out.” 

He was so cool about it that the officer in ad- 
vance, who proved to be the chief of police, could 
not help smiling. He lowered his revolver and 
stepped inside. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said; “but it is 
necessary to search this building. I have reason to 
believe that Tom Davis, the gambler, who murdered 
a man this afternoon, is in hiding in some of these 
rooms.” 

The chief went on to ask Dick questions about 
the occupants of the other rooms, all of which Dick 
answered as well as he could ; and for the next half- 
hour he heard the chief and his men tramping 
through the halls and knocking at doors. It was a 
false alarm, however ; the gambler was not there. 

Dick was destined to meet the chief of police a 
few nights later under more pleasant circumstances. 
Stopping to take breath about midnight, an hour 
when the editor of The Daily Horseshoe was 
reasonably sure to be in his office, he stepped down 
into the next block to make the acquaintance of Mr. 
Mose Harrison, the man who was serenaded every 
evening in jail. 

“ I ’m glad to meet you,” Mr. Harrison said with 


228 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


great cordiality when Dick introduced himself. “ I 
wish you had come in sooner. It will seem natural 
to you to be in a newspaper office and see the 
emblems of the profession about you ; ” and he 
waved his hand toward a rosette of rifles, swords, 
bowie-knives, and revolvers fastened to the wall 
behind his desk. 

“We don’t have quite so much ornamentation in 
our New York offices,” Dick laughed. “ But per- 
haps you need them here more than we do.” 

“Yes, we do!” was the reply. “But things 
ain’t what they used to be. Why, I ’ve seen the 
time — Hold on though, I didn’t mean to be so 
inhospitable. There ’s a saloon right next door ; 
come and have a smile.” 

“ Thank you ; I never smile — not in that way,” 
Dick answered. And Mr. Harrison proceeded to 
finish his sentence. 

“ I ’ve seen the time when there was a man lookin’ 
for me in the next block below, and another in the 
block above ; and it was sure death if I let ’em get 
the drop on me. And same to them — yes, hang 
it, Sumner, I meant just as well by them. We all 
meant business. Good-evenin’, chief ; walk in and 
take a chair.” 

The chief of police walked in while the editor spoke. 

“ Chief,” he went on, “ this is Mr. Sumner of The 
New York Transport. Sumner, Mr. Gardner, our 
chief of police.” 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


229 


Dick and the chief both smiled as they looked at 
each other. 

“ I have had the pleasure of meeting the chief 
before/’ Dick said. “ He brought six men and a 
revolver to my room to introduce him a night or 
two ago.” 

“Well, accidents will happen,” the chief laughed. 
“ The joke was on me that time, I ’ll admit. There ’s 
a saloon right next do’, gentlemen ; will you .step 
out and take something ? ” 

“ Wait until the paper goes to press, chief,” 
Harrison said, “ and I ’ll join you. Sumner don’t 
drink.” 

The chief had an item to give about some police 
case, and he soon went out. 

“Hang it, Sumner!” Harrison exclaimed, “I’ve 
got to have six or eight more paragraphs. I ’ll put 
you in for one ; you and your experience with the 
police. But I want somebody to turn down. I 
wish you ’d tell me who else I can turn down to- 
night.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ turn down ’ ? ” Dick 
asked; “I don’t quite understand you.” 

“Oh, somebody to ‘go for,’” Mr. Harrison an- 
swered ; “ somebody to give a black eye to. To say 
that the sheriff ’s about to seize his property, or that 
his son’s in jail in Chicago, Or some pleasant little 
news like that. If I don’t have a few such items, 
people will say the Horseshoe’s growing dull. 


230 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Dick protested that he was not well enough 
acquainted in Hot Springs to give advice on so 
important a matter ; and while he was speaking the 
door opened and a short, chunky young man 
walked in. 

“Well, what luck, Howell?’* Harrison asked. 

“ Not a line,” the newcomer replied. “ Every- 
thing’s too quiet.” 

“That’s so,” said Harrison. “Everything’s too 
quiet to live. Come here till I introduce you to 
another newspaper man, Howell. This is Mr. Sum- 
ner, of The New York Transport. Our reporter, 
Mr. Sumner ; Mr. Howell, from Waco, Texas.” 

Mr. Howell, of Waco, Texas, was delighted to 
meet a newspaper man from New York, and said so. 
The honor so weighed upon him that in a minute 
or two he suggested : — 

“ There ’s a saloon right next do’, gentlemen. 
Will you take a little walk ? ” 

Once more Dick had to decline either to walk or 
smile. But Mr. Howell was not to be put off so 
easily. 

“You must find things pretty stupid down here,” 
he said, “after New York. This town’s growin’ 
stupider every day. But if you ’ll wait till the paper 
goes to press, at three o’clock, I ’ll take you to 
a neat little dollar limit game up in the Burnt Rag. 
We have a game there every night. It’ll make 
a night’s sport for you.” 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 23 I 

“ Much obliged,” Dick laughed, “ but I have 
a night’s sport waiting for me in my room. I have 
about two more columns of solid nonpareil to write 
before breakfast time.” 

As he walked back to his room Dick was in an 
unhappy frame of mind. 

“I’ve read of such newspaper offices as that,” 
he said to himself, “but I had no idea they really 
existed. The trouble is that when people read 
about such a place, they imagine that all newspaper 
offices are the same. If I only had Darling or Dr. 
Goode here to talk to Mose Harrison and Mr. 
Howell, of Waco, Texas ! And to see the revolvers 
and bowie knives, and hear about the ‘ turning 
down ’ and ‘ the saloon next do’ ’ ! Darling would 
laugh at it ; but, on the whole, I should n’t like Dr. 
Goode to see it. He has such a high idea of the 
profession that it would make him feel very sore.” 

Dick’s days in Hot Springs were given to sight- 
seeing, and his nights to writing, and when at the 
end of several weeks he started for Texas and New 
Orleans, he had written a large number of letters. 
He had had the satisfaction of seeing many of them 
in print, too ; for the New York papers came rapidly 
by rail, and he found that the letters were being 
copied as widely as the others had been. 

After a brief stay in the northeast part of Texas, 
that was not very fertile in material, he went by rail 
to Shreveport and took passage on the Red River 


232 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


boat Argosy for New Orleans. The boat was to 
start at six o’clock in the evening ; but she had 
a great quantity of cotton to load, and the weather 
was so cold that it was hard to get negroes to do the 
loading, so she was delayed till nearly nine. The 
worst part of the waiting was that supper was not 
served till the boat started ; but Dick amused him- 
self by watching his fellow-passengers. In one 
party there were five or six young ladies and as 
many young gentlemen, very lively young folks, and 
some of the ladies very pretty ; but before the boat 
started the party dwindled to three young ladies, 
the others having come on board merely to see 
them off. 

“Now if I had only had more experience with 
young ladies,” Dick said to himself, “I’d manage 
somehow to make the acquaintance of those three. 
They seem to be very nice ladies, and it would 
make the time pass pleasantly.” Almost for the 
first time he regretted that his work had made it 
impossible for him to enjoy ladies’ society as most 
young men do. Indeed he had hardly thought of 
it before ; but now he realized that he was sadly 
lacking in experience as a gallant. “ However,” he 
consoled himself, “very likely I couldn’t manage to 
be introduced to them, anyhow.” 

What he desired was destined to be managed for 
him better than he could have arranged it him- 
self. Soon after the boat started, the clerk, who 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


233 

knew his name because he had written it in the 
register, stepped up to him and said : — 

“ There are three young ladies on board without 
any escort, Mr. Sumner ; very fine young ladies, 
daughters of a cotton planter down the river. I 
should like to introduce you to them, so that you 
can escort them to supper.” 

Of course they were the very young ladies he 
had been desirous of meeting ; and he blessed the 
good old-fashioned custom of the southern steam- 
boats that makes it the duty of the clerk to see that 
all unprotected ladies are provided with escorts to 
take them properly to the table. 

“ It would be a long time, I ’m afraid,” he said to 
himself, “before an escort would be found for a lady 
on one of our Hudson River or Sound boats.” 

Dick was surprised at his success in making him- 
self agreeable to his new companions. If one of 
his articles had been reprinted by fifty different 
papers, it would not have pleased him more than to 
find that the young ladies enjoyed his company. 

“ But it’s only because I have a lot of amusing 
things to tell them,” he modestly thought. “I’m 
glad they ’re not the kind of young ladies who 
would want to flirt. I can turn my hand to almost 
anything, but that ’s one of the things I certainly 
could not do.” He had not at that time made a study 
of any young lady for use in his projected novel. 

Somehow the first three days of the voyage, when 


234 THE yOUNG REPORTER . 

the^young ladies were on board, passed very quickly 
and pleasandy ; and die last thr£e, after they had 
landed at their father’s plantation, rather seemed to 
drag. Perhaps it was because the scenery grew 
somewhat monotonous. Dick helped the three 
ladies up the steep gangway at the plantation ; and 
when he returned to the boat and left them standing 
on the bluff, the clerk said to him : — 

“Now wave to them; wave your handkerchief. 
They ’ll expect you to wave good-by to them.” 

Dick waved with a will, and they returned the 
compliment quite as heartily. The boat swung 
around a bend, and the three pleasant young ladies 
became only a memory. 

When he arrived in New Orleans Dick had a self- 
conscious feeling that troubled him at first. He 
felt that he had become somewhat countrified in 
appearance ; that people were looking at him ; that 
he needed brushing up. It was the natural result 
of spending so many weeks on the river and among 
the mountains, and it soon wore off. Another 
trouble was that he was running short of funds. 
So much travel had exhausted most of the money 
that had been furnished him, and it was necessary 
to send for more. 

“ It won’t do to run out of money here,” he 
thought, “where nobody knows me. Of course I 
have only to send to the office for more, but there 
might be some delay about its getting here.” 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


^35 


For economy’s sake he stayed only a day in the 
famous St. Charles Hotel, and then moved into a 
furnished room in a comfortable old-fashioned house 
facing Lafayette Square, two or three blocks up St. 
Charles Street. This was a mistake that Dick would 
not have made a year later on. As the correspond- 
ent of a great New York newspaper his credit would 
have been good to any reasonable amount in a first- 
rate hotel till his funds arrived ; whereas the private 
landlady would need her money, and would most 
likely exact it in advance ; and in a restaurant 
expected funds are not as good as cash in the 
pocket. 

Though he knew that his money was sure to 
arrive, the depleted state of his purse worried Dick, 
for he had only a few dollars left. On his first day 
in New Orleans he wrote to the Transport office for 
a check for three hundred dollars, and it would take, 
as he reckoned it, at least five days to receive an 
answer — perhaps six. 

“The letter might miscarry,” he said to himself a 
dozen times ; “ and if it should, another week would 
be lost, and I have not enough for two weeks. I 
should have sent for the check sooner.” 

There were enough sights in New Orleans to 
occupy his time. The strange cemeteries, with their 
brick graves built above ground ; the French quarter 
and French market ; the old Spanish fort ; the lake 
and its beach and its Coney-island-like attractions ; 


236 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


the river front, — all these things made material for 
letters. The steamer for Key West was to sail on 
Thursday morning at eight o’clock, and Wednesday 
was the sixth day from the date of his letter to the 
Transport ; but no check had arrived. 

There were two mail deliveries in St. Charles 
Street every day, one at nine o’clock in the morning 
and the other at noon. The postman made his 
nine o’clock visit, but there was no letter for 
Richard Sumner, Esquire. He began to feel that 
he really had cause for anxiety ; no check, hardly 
any money, and his steamer to sail early the next 
morning. 

When the time for the noon delivery came, Dick 
was sitting on a sunny bench in Lafayette Square, 
directly opposite his house, where he could watch 
the door, waiting impatiently for the arrival of the 
very last mail that could bring him a check in time 
for the next day’s steamer. He saw the postman 
walking rapidly up the street, ringing doorbells and 
handing in letters. He saw him stop at the house 
next door to his and hand in a letter there. He 
saw him go on a few steps and pause a moment, 
then go on again, on past his house without ringing 
the bell ! Dick could hardly believe his eyes ; 
hardly realize that there was no possible chance of 
getting his check in time. 

“Well,” he said to himself,' “ I Ve done my best 
to get money by mail, and I Ve failed. Now we ’ll 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


2 37 

see what the telegraph will do. I don’t intend to 
lose that boat.” 

As he got up from the bench to go to the tele- 
graph office a hundred factory bells and whistles 
were sounding for noon. He walked down St. 
Charles Street to the main telegraph office, under 
the St. Charles Hotel, and wrote his dispatch : — 

Daily Transport, New York : — 

No check received. Please telegraph me three hundred dollars 
immediately. Sumner. 

He actually grudged the fifty cents for sending 
the dispatch, his money was so low. But after 
sending it he walked back to his old seat in the 
square. With all his tribulation he was thinking out 
the next article he -was to write ; and he thought 
and thought, sometimes about the money and some- 
times about the article, till suddenly he clapped his 
hand down upon his knee. 

“ There ’s another complication ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ They won’t pay a telegraphic money order before 
nine in the morning, nor after five in the afternoon. 
It ’s almost certain that my money won’t get here 
before five o’clock, and I ’ll not be able to get it 
to-night. By the time that I can get it in the morn- 
ing my steamer will be gone ! 

“Now there’s a way out of every difficulty,” he 
continued, “ and there ’s a way out of this. What 
I must do is go back to the telegraph office, intro- 


238 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


duce myself to the manager, explain the case to 
him, and arrange to get the money this evening 
whenever it arrives. I think that will do it.” 

For this purpose he walked back to the telegraph 
office and sent in his card to the manager. He was 
shown into a handsome private office, where he soon 
made known what he wanted. 

“ I suppose you have some papers that will iden- 
tify you, Mr. Sumner,” the manager said when Dick 
concluded ; “letters in your pocket or something of 
that sort ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I have plenty of letters,” Dick an- 
swered as he drew out a handful and showed them. 

“ That ’s all right,” the manager said. “ Your 
money is here, Mr. Sumner. Just show these letters 
to the cashier, and he will pay it over to you.” 

His money there! why, it was less than an hour 
since he had telegraphed for it ! But it was a fact 
nevertheless ; and within three minutes he had the 
three hundred dollars in his pocket, in good crisp 
notes, and was walking back toward his old seat in 
the square. The ringing of the bells and blowing 
of the whistles for one o’clock, just as he sat down, 
reminded him that exactly an hour had passed 
since he first started for the telegraph office ; and 
now the money was in his pocket. 

“ That is almost worth making an article of,” he 
reflected ; “ sending from New Orleans to New York 
for money and having it here within an hour. An 


A NARROW ESCAPE IN ARKANSAS. 


239 


outsider would hardly believe it possible, but I can 
see exactly how it was done. When my telegram 
reached New York it was sent right up in the pneu- 
matic tube that runs from the Western Union office 
to the Transport office, so no time was lost in the 
delivery. The office boy handed it at once to the 
city editor, and his reply to it was something like 
this, written on one of the office noteheads : — 

Western Union : — 

Please send three hundred dollars immediately to Richard 
Sumner, New Orleans, and charge to account of Daily Transport. 

J. H. Brown, City Editor. 

“ That went right down to the telegraph office in 
the pneumatic tube, and the next minute they were 
telegraphing the manager here to pay me three 
hundred dollars. And here ’s the money in my 
pocket, and I take to-morrow’s steamer for Key 
West.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 

OME home,” was the order that Dick received 



in reply to his telegram from Key West 
reporting himself there and asking for instructions. 

He was very well satisfied with this, for various 
reasons. He was far behind in his facts, although 
he had been writing, writing, as fast as he could. 
While in Texas and on the Red River he had been 
writing still about Hot Springs ; and even in Key 
West he had not begun yet to do his descriptions of 
New Orleans. 

However, there was a weightier reason than this 
that made him desire to go home. While on his 
travels the plot of a novel had somehow stolen into 
his mind, and he had worked it out so far that he 
was anxious to begin writing it. 

“ I certainly could not do anything toward putting 
it on paper while I am traveling,” he said to himself. 
“ My time is not my own now, anyhow, but even if 
it were I should have no chance. I can’t help think- 
ing about it and working it out. The only way that 
I can ever write a novel is to have the whole thing 
thoroughly in mind before I begin to write, so that 
when I do write I shall know exactly what I am about. 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 24 1 

“ They say that novelists’ methods of work differ 
very much. Some men begin to write with nothing 
but the main idea in their minds, and let the thing 
develop as they go along. Those are the men who 
write and rewrite, and cut and add and change, till 
at last there is hardly anything left of the original. 
I know one celebrated writer who rewrote a novel 
six times, and it was very bad when he finished it. 

“ That plan would not do for me. I must have 
everything perfectly mapped out before I begin ; so 
well in hand that I could write the last chapter first, 
or the middle one, or do any scene or conversation 
without reference to the rest. I don’t think it is 
because I am too lazy to rewrite; more likely my 
newspaper training has taught me to gather all my 
material up and sort it out before I pick up the pen.” 

There was time to collect facts for several good 
articles in Key West before he could start ; for Key 
West is unique among cities. The most southerly 
point in the United States, most of its inhabitants 
are Cubans who work in the big cigar factories, and 
their ways of life are distinctly Cuban. Then the 
isolated position of the place, on a tiny island miles 
from the continent, makes it almost a land to itself, 
with many strange customs not to be found else- 
where. 

Dick found that he could return to New York 
either by the direct steamer or by the Plant System 
boat to Tampa, and thence by rail up the Atlantic 


242 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


Coast. He promptly chose the latter way, not only 
because it was much faster, but also on account of 
the opportunity it gave him to see more of the 
country. 

“ I cannot see too many places,” he reflected, “ if 
I am going to write novels ; and I am certainly 
going to try. If I should have occasion to write 
about Tampa or Jacksonville or Charleston or 
Richmond, it would be necessary to know something 
about those places. This rail ride will ‘ enlarge my 
field of action,’ as Darling would say.” 

After a beautiful voyage up the smooth Gulf of 
Mexico the steamship landed him in Tampa, and 
there he found a through train ready to carry him 
to New York. For scores of miles through Florida 
the tracks ran between orange groves ; and as the 
trees were white with blossoms, the air was perfumed 
with their delightful fragrance. Into Georgia the 
train carried him, then across South Carolina, North 
Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, into Penn- 
sylvania, and at last across New Jersey to Jersey 
City. Washington was a sore temptation to him to 
stop, for he felt that he ought to become familiar 
with the National Capital. But none knew better 
than Dick that a newspaper’s order to “ come home” 
does not mean come next week, or the day after 
to-morrow, but come at once. There might be 
work of the utmost importance waiting for him. 

It was seven o’clock in the evening when the 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 


243 


train arrived in Jersey City, and Dick went directly 
to the Transport office to report his return. 

“ Darling will be glad to see me back, anyhow,” 
he said to himself as he sprang merrily up the 
stairs ; '‘so will Dr. Goode. The doctor always has 
a warm welcome for a fellow who ’s been away on a 
journey. Three whole months since I Ve seen any 
of the boys ! There ’ll be some new faces among 
the reporters, I suppose. It ’s funny to think that 
I ’m one of the ‘ old ’ men now ! ” 

He spoke to the office boys as he entered the big 
room, and hurried up to the front to see Dr. Goode 
and the managing editor and the night city editor 
and Darling. Jack Randall and Lawrence and two 
or three others tried to stop him as he passed, but 
he waved his hand to them and went on. 

Something looked unfamiliar at the desks by the 
front windows. It took him a second or two to 
grasp the situation and see that Darling was sitting 
at the managing editor’s desk, and that Mr. Brown, 
the city editor, was in Dr. Goode’s chair. 

“ Hello, Darling, old chap ! ” he exclaimed, put- 
ting out his hand ; “ what are you doing here ? ” 

“ Be a little more respectful, if you please, in 
addressing your managing editor ! ” Darling an- 
swered. “ I can’t have reporters and correspon- 
dents calling me ‘ old chap ’ in the office.” There 
was a sly twinkle in Darling’s eye as he said it ; and 
he gave Dick’s hand a tremendous wrench. 


244 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Managing editor ! ” Dick repeated. “You don’t 
say that you ’re ” — 

“ Oh, yes, I do,” Darling interrupted. “ These 
little things happen sometimes. The managing 
editor that was has gone to take charge of a paper 
in Minneapolis, and I have been put in his place. 

“Shake again!” Dick exclaimed. “You the 
managing editor ! Why that makes you my boss, 
and you might send me out to do a fire to-night, if 
you wanted to ; but you ’d better not. But where 
is the doctor? What is Mr. Brown doing at his 
desk? ” 

Darling turned towards the papers in front of him 
and looked at them hard. 

“ There is bad news as well as good, Dick,” he 
replied after a moment’s pause. “ Dear, old doc- 
tor ! He ” — 

“ What ! he ’s not sick, is he ? ” Dick interrupted. 
But the moisture in Darling’s eyes was more elo- 
quent than words. “O Darling! Oh, no, old chap, 
you don’t mean it ? He ’s not ” — 

Darling sadly shook his head and fumbled among 
his papers. “ A week ago yesterday, Dick, we took 
him over to Greenwood. His poor old eyes will 
never give him any more trouble in this world. All 
these things have happened within a few days, and 
we wrote you about them ; but I suppose you left 
Key West before the letters arrived.” 

Dick turned away without another word, for he 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 245 

would not trust his voice in that cruel moment. 
Sadly he shook hands with Mr. Brown, then looking 
toward Darling again, he said almost in a whisper : 

‘ There is nothing for me to do to-night; I need 
not stay here. I — I must go home. I will be up 
when you come home, Darling.” 

As he walked quickly out of the big room Dick 
saw several new men, much such young reporters 
as he once was, nudge each other and look at him. 
He knew what that meant, for he had noticed it 
before. The youngsters were saying to one an- 
other, “ See that fellow ! that ’s Richard Sumner, 
the man who ’s been writing those letters from 
Mexico and the Southwest ! ” 

Once he had been looking at the older men in 
the same admiring way ; but now that his own time 
had come it could not even make him smile. For 
who was to tell him when he did good work, and 
point out weaknesses in his style, or comfort him 
in trouble, or advise him, or do him a thousand 
little kindnesses, with Dr. Goode lying over in 
Greenwood ? 

There was a warm welcome for him in the flat, 
and he did his best to conceal his. grief over Dr. 
Goode behind his satisfaction at Darling’s promo- 
tion. That he could hardly realize any more than 
he could fully realize that he should see his good 
friend no more. 

“ It ’s too astonishing for a man to grasp so 


24 6 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

suddenly,” he said to his mother and Florrie after 
the first volley of hugs and kisses. “ Darling is 
exactly the man for the place ; exactly. But there 
were four or five people between him and the man- 
aging editorship. However, they do those things 
sometimes, as I have learned by experience.” 

“ You ’ll have to mind your p’s and q’s now, Mr. 
Richard Sumner,” Florrie laughed. “ If you don’t 
do exactly as I want you to about everything, I ’ll 
have Harry reduce your salary or put you back at 
city work. I ’ll see that he keeps you busy.” 

“ I don’t think he can keep me any busier than 
I always am,” Dick retorted. “ I ’ve hardly had 
a minute to myself since I began work on the 
Transport. But I want to begin some work for 
myself now, and I ’m remarkably glad that Darling 
is the man I ’ll have to negotiate with.” 

There was time to do at least part of an article 
between the supper and the hour for Darling’s 
arrival, and Dick shut himself up and fell to work 
as naturally as if he had not been away. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed when he came to a short 
pause somewhere after midnight. . “ I ’d forgotten 
that I was in New York. I ’ve been so engrossed 
with writing about New Orleans and the levee and 
the Spanish fort and St. Charles Street, that I 
seemed to be down there among the Creoles.” He 
was always pleased when he found himself carried 
away with his subject in this way ; so completely 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 


247 


saturated with it that he became oblivious to his 
real surroundings. He liked to laugh with his 
funny characters, and sometimes to drop a stray 
tear with the unfortunate ones — when he was 
entirely alone. 

When Darling came in, a little later now than 
before, because he had to look over an early copy of 
the paper before leaving the office and sometimes 
make a second edition, Dick was ready to join him 
in the late supper. They had a long talk about Dr. 
Goode and everything that happened in the office. 

“ I intended to have a confab with the managing 
editor as soon as I got back, Darling,” Dick said 
after he had heard all the news ; “ but I did n’t think 
my talk would be with you. You know what we 
were saying some time ago about my writing — 
writing a novel. I have been reading as much as 
I could while I was away, and I have the plot of 
a good story in my mind. Pretty well worked up, 
too, so that when I begin to write it I can go 
straight ahead. 

“ Now what I am most in need of is time to 
write. I have about a week’s work to finish up the 
letters of my last trip, and of course I will do that 
first. After that I want to get some time to myself, 
if I can manage it. Mother was so economical 
while I was away that she has saved more than half 
of my salary ; and that with what I had saved be- 
fore will bring my fund up to nearly a thousand 


248 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


dollars in the bank. I can do the actual writing of 
a novel in three months ; and I feel as if I could 
afford to ask for that much vacation from the office, 
without salary of course. Now is the time for me 
to strike while my name is in the papers so much.” 

“You are quite right to strike while the iron is 
hot,” Darling replied. “ The kind of work you 
are doing now will not last always, as I told you 
before ; it never does with any man. But I think 
you can do better than ask for a long vacation. I 
have never known a man to be given a long vaca- 
tion for such a purpose, and I should not like to 
begin with you in making such a break. They all 
know how we stand toward each other, and they 
would accuse me of favoritism at once if I did it. 
Why not go on space, Dick ? ” 

“ On space?” Dick repeated. “I don’t see how 
that would help me any.” 

“ It would help me to help you,” Darling replied ; 
“ and of course I want to help you as much as I 
can, though on the other hand I must do what is 
best for the office. You would n’t ask me to show 
you favors that I would not show to another man in 
your place.” 

“ Certainly not ! ” Dick exclaimed. “ I would n’t 
accept them.” 

“ You can go on space as a special man, and I 
shall feel warranted in paying you fifteen dollars a 
column. Of course in that case your salary will 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 


2 49 


stop, and you will be paid only for what you write, 
or the time you are actually busy. That will leave 
you master of your own time to a great extent. 
You might average perhaps three days a week for 
the paper and three for yourself, and at that rate 
you could finish your novel in six months. You 
know some of the space men make a great deal of 
money. I think that will be better for you than to 
stop work entirely for three months ; and it will 
certainly be better for the office, because we can call 
upon you whenever we need you.” 

“ I don’t know but you ’re right about that, 
Darling,” Dick answered after a little reflection. 
“ It will seem strange at first not to have the salary 
coming in regularly ; but, then, three columns a 
week will more than make up for it, and I think I 
ought to average that much.” 

Dick had a great deal to think about when he 
went to bed an hour or two before the sun rose. 
But the desire to write his novel was stronger in his 
mind than anything else, except his grief over the 
loss of Dr. Goode. He felt that his plot was a 
good one — original and bright. His newspaper let- 
ters had met with great success ; why should his 
novel not do as well ? 

For the next week he toiled away, every afternoon 
and part of the night, till his letters were finished. 
When the last one was done he laid down his pen 
with some regret. 


250 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Now for space work,” he said to himself, “ and 
what I hope will be the best work I have done yet. 
The novel is so thoroughly laid out that I have 
nothing to do but write it. It may not go at all ; 
it may fall flat or be laughed at ; but I am going to 
do my best with it. If I can write one novel that 
will go, I can write more.” 

He fell to work at it at once, stopping only when 
Darling gave him special work to do for the office. 
At the end of a fortnight Darling asked him how 
the novel was coming on. 

“Oh, I’m learning!” he laughed. “I know 
more about novel-writing now than I did two weeks 
ago, at any rate. Did n’t I tell you that I had it all 
so well laid out in my mind that I had only to do 
the actual writing ? Well, I really believed that, 
which ‘just shows how little I knew about the trade. 
Why, Darling, I wrote the opening sentences a 
dozen times before I got them to suit me ! After 
the first two chapters were done I saw how very 
much the whole opening scheme might be im- 
proved, so I threw them away and began over 
again. I ’m on my fifth chapter now, but there ’s 
hardly a line that has not been written two or three 
times over.” 

“ I ’m glad of that,” Darling said; “ nothing but 
hard pulling will produce good work. How much 
do you do every day ? ” 

“ Well, after I go d.'.tyn to the office to see 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 2$ I 

whether I ’m needed, I do a thousand words in the 
afternoon. That is my regular afternoon’s work. 
Then after dinner, with the whole night before me, 
I hope for two thousand words more. You know I 
am a very rapid penman. But I don’t push myself 
at night. If I ’m not in the mood, I read for an 
hour or two. That generally puts me in proper 
trim.” 

“ What do you read ? Shakespeare ? ” 

“ No,” Dick replied ; “ never while I ’m writing. 
He is a capital stimulant at other times, but in the 
midst of writing I find he confuses me. His heroic 
style is so totally different from the modern style 
that there must be an interval between. No ; at 
those times I want a language nearer to the lan- 
guage I use myself, and I find it in Thackeray — 
usually in Vanity Fair.” 

“ I have heard other writers say the same thing,” 
Darling acquiesced. “ A writer unconsciously 
imitates to some extent the style he has just been 
reading. At least, so I understand ; a managing 
editor, you know, is a complicated machine for 
watching the news of the world and getting it all 
into his own paper. He cannot be expected to be 
an expert in literary style.” 

“ He is valuable as a signer of reporters’ checks,” 
Dick laughed; “and when a man runs short of 
money in a distant city he is the most important 
person in the world.” 


252 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


The interruptions in the novel-writing were always 
provoking, but they could not be avoided. Some- 
times Dick was kept away for days at a time, and 
on one occasion for a whole week. “ Never mind, 
I ’m fresh for a new start,” he said to himself at 
such times, and took up the thread where he had 
laid it down. Mrs. Sumner and Florrie took great 
pains to keep the flat quiet while he was at work, 
for somehow, though he could write newspaper 
articles with the whole office talking around him, 
the least noise disturbed him when he was at work 
on his novel. 

“ Sh ! ” he heard one little girl say to another in 
the hall one day as they passed the door of his flat ; 
“ don’t talk so loud, there ’s a man writing a book 
in there! ” But he could not even smile just then, 
for he was trying to work his way through a difficult 
situation. 

Almost the only newspaper work that Dick really 
enjoyed while he was engaged upon the novel came 
to him about the time that he had reached the 
twelfth chapter ; and perhaps the way that came to 
him had something to do with his enjoyment of it. 
When he went into the office Darling handed him a 
memorandum, and with the memorandum a brief 
note from the editor-in-chief, not intended for Dick’s 
eyes. 

“ Send the best writer you have on this job,” the 
note said ; “ get Sumner if possible.” 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 


2 53 


“This job” was to write a complete description 
of the working of the New York Fire Department, 
and to do it properly Dick must go to an engine- 
house and live there like a fireman till the engine 
was called out to at least one fire ; and then go out 
with it and help handle the hose. To be allowed to 
do this he must go first to the department head- 
quarters in Mercer Street and get a permit. 

“ That is very nice in the old man to call me the 
best writer in the office,” he said to Darling. “ I 
only hope the publishers will think so when I send 
them my novel.” He said nothing about the note 
to any one else, except his mother and Florrie, but 
he thought about it a great deal. “ The best writer 
in the office ! And the Transport is everywhere 
admitted to be the best written newspaper in 
America ! ” 

He could not help feeling elated over such a com- 
pliment as he rode up to Mercer Street. “ Here, 
Dick ! ” he kept saying to himself ; “ Dick, wash the 
rollers ! “ Dick, come here ! ” and then by contrast, 

“ Send the best writer in the office ; get Sumner if 
possible.” But experience had given a veneering 
to his exterior, and he would not for any money 
have let his companions know that he gave the note 
a second thought. 

“I think we had better send you down to Number 
Four in Liberty Street,” the chief of the fire depart- 
ment said when Dick made known his mission. 


254 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ There are a great many fires in that district, and 
Number Four is the headquarters of the chief of 
the First Battalion. He can give you the information 
you require.” 

The chief wrote out an order to the foreman of 
Number Four, directing him to “allow Mr. Richard 
Sumner to remain in the engine-house for forty- 
eight hours, or longer if he desires ; give him all 
possible information and allow him to accompany 
the apparatus to fires.” It was such an order as only 
the representative of a first-rate newspaper could 
have obtained. 

When Dick arrived at the Number Four engine- 
house in Liberty Street, opposite the site of the old 
postoffice, next morning, he was politely received 
by the foreman of the company, and by the chief 
of the First Battalion. He saw on the ground 
floor of the building a beautiful fire engine, resplen- 
dent with polished brass, and by its side the tender, 
with its reel of hose. At the rear were three 
stalls with fine large horses in them ; and near the 
centre was a smooth pole running up to the upper 
stories of the building through hatchways cut in the 
floors. 

“ So you are going to be a fireman for a few days, 
are you ? ” the battalion chief asked as he read 
Dick’s order. “ Well, you will find it exciting work 
if we happen to have a good fire. And you ’ll have 
to step around pretty fast, to go out with the 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 


255 

apparatus. Come upstairs with me and I will show 
you first where the men live.” 

Dick and the chief were crossing the floor of the 
big room toward the stairway when there came a 
terrible clatter. 

“ Tap-tap-tap ! ” rang a big gong almost over 
their heads. 

“ Tap— tap— tap ! ” rang a smaller gong in the rear 
by the horses. 

Instantly there was a rush of men and horses 
across the floor toward the engine and tender. 

“ Look out ! Dodge the horses ! ” the chief 
shouted ; and at the same moment he seized Dick 
by the arm and dragged him to the foot of the 
stairs, out of the way. 

It was none too soon either ; for the next second 
the three powerful horses dashed past like the wind 
and took their places, one on either side of the pole 
of the engine and the third between the shafts of 
the tender. The harness lay ready on their backs, 
and Dick noticed that men were already at their 
stations to snap the springs that attached the horses 
to the apparatus. But what a rush it was ! In 
another second the driver was in his seat in the 
front of the engine, and the engineer and his assist- 
ant were on a platform at the rear. A driver and 
six firemen were on the tender, and each driver had 
the reins in his hands, ready for a dash. One man 
stood by the big folding doors in front, his hand on 


256 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


the latch, ready to throw them open. Every man 
was in uniform, and every man knew just where to 
go. Dick took it all in, though the whole thing 
took less than ten seconds. 

“Tap-tap!” said both bells again; and the 
drivers jumped down from their seats, the horses 
were unfastened and trotted back to their stalls ; 
it was all over. 

“ What does that mean ? ” Dick asked. “ If there 
is a fire, why does n’t the engine go ? ” 

“ Because it was not one of our numbers,” the 
chief explained. “ It was a genuine alarm of fire, 
but not in our district. Of course every engine in 
the city does not go to every fire ; each engine goes 
only to the fires in its own district, and we know 
where the fire is by the number of taps. But every 
engine in the city is manned and made ready to go 
out whenever an alarm comes. You see we cannot 
tell when the bell begins to tap whether it is going 
to be one of our numbers or not. For instance, 
the gong just struck three and two — thirty-two. 
That station is away up in Harlem, and we could 
hardly reach it in an hour. But the gong might 
have gone on and added four to the thirty-two, 
making 324. That would have been one of our 
stations, and we would have gone out. You see we 
were all ready on the first tap for whatever might 
happen.” 

“ Well ! ” Dick exclaimed, “ that is a very com- 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL. 257 

plete system. But what I don’t understand is how 
the horses got out here so fast. I did n’t see any- 
body touch them.” 

“No!” the chief laughed; “no one touched 
them. But I shall have to begin back at the fire 
itself to make that clear to you. For an easy 
example, we will suppose that a fire is discovered 
in the Astor House, and that somebody runs out 
and pulls the handle in the nearest alarm box, 
which is at Vesey Street and Broadway. The num- 
ber of that box is 23, and the pulling of the 
handle immediately telegraphs ‘ 23 ’ to the fire 
headquarters in Mercer Street. A clerk sits there 
by the instrument, with a cabinet in front of him 
full of tiny drawers, each drawer containing a little 
brass disk notched in the side to correspond with 
the numbers. He takes out disk number 23 and 
drops it into a slot prepared for it in another 
instrument, and presses a button. Quick as a 
wink ‘ 23 ’ is telegraphed to every engine-house in 
the city. 

“ Now we come to the horses,” he continued. 
“ That little flash of electricity does a great deal of 
work. It not only taps the number on our big 
gong, but at the same time it releases a weight 
which drops and pulls back the bolts that fasten 
the horses in their stalls, and rings a smaller gong 
over their heads. They are so used to the business 
that the instant they hear the gong they know they 


258 THE YOUNG REPORTER. 

are free, and they start on a run for their places in 
front of the engine and tender. They know where 
to go and what to do as well as the men.” 

“I like to see the horses best of all!” Dick 
exclaimed enthusiastically. “ What noble fellows 
they are ! But the whole thing is very complete.” 

“ Oh, that is only a beginning,” the chief said. 
“ Come upstairs now till I show you where we live. 
You see this pole running up ? It goes all the way 
to the roof, and is for the men to slide down when 
they are in a hurry. If they happen to be up above 
when an alarm comes, they don’t think of using the 
stairs but slide down the pole. It is smooth and 
perfectly safe. That ’s what you will have to do if 
you want to catch the engine at night. You saw 
how quickly everything is done. We go out of the 
door in ten or eleven seconds after the first tap of 
the bell, day or night, and you ’d never catch us 
if you waited for the stairs. If you get there 
in time, jump right up on the ash-box with the 
engineer and fireman at the rear of the engine. 
We can’t wait for you, you know.” 

Dick looked critically at the slippery pole and the 
distance to the ground floor. 

“I’ll be there,” he said confidently. “I can go 
down that pole as fast as anybody.” 

“ Now here is where the men sleep,” the chief 
went on ; “ here in the third story. Each man 
has his little iron bed and ” — 


DICK BEGINS TO WRITE A NOVEL . 


259 


“ Tap - tap ! ” said the great gong and a smaller 
one up in the sleeping-room. 

Dick did not wait for the third tap. He knew 
that the engine might be out of the house in ten 
seconds, and it was his duty to catch it. 

He sprang for the pole, threw his arms around it, 
and slid down to the ground floor as if he had been 
shot out of a cannon. In a fraction of a second 
more he was in his place on the ash-box of the 
engine. 

But there was none of the commotion below that 
he had expected to see. Instead, there came a 
clapping of hands and some laughter and shouts 
of, — 

“ Bravo, reporter ! you ’re on time ! ; 

“ Good for the newspaper man ! ” 

“ The Transport never gets left, does it? ” 

“ You ’ll do for a fireman,” said the foreman, 
trying hard not to laugh ; “ but that bell was only 
the twelve o’clock time signal. We don’t go out 
for that.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 

HE comfort of Dick’s stay in the engine-house 



depended very largely upon how he took this 
laughter at his expense, and he was shrewd enough 
to know it. He had mistaken the noontime signal, 
when the correct city time is sent to every engine- 
house for a fire alarm, and the fun-loving firemen 
could not lose such a good chance to laugh at him. 

There was no danger, though, that Dick would 
lose his temper, and so make himself the butt of 
countless other jokes. He enjoyed his mistake as 
much as any of them and laughed with the rest, 
and so began a pleasant acquaintance with the men 
that was an advantage to him in a business way, for 
they all had good stories to tell. 

“ Every house ought to have a pole like that,” he 
laughed; “it’s ever so much easier than coming 
downstairs.” 

Returning to the third story, he went about with 
the chief to see the men’s sleeping- room and the 
big sitting-room on the second floor, where they 
amuse themselves with checkers, chess, dominoes, 
and newspapers and magazines. 

“ A fireman is always on duty, you know,” the chief 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 


26l 


explained. “ Only one or two men go out to their 
meals at a time, so we are never left short-handed. 
At any moment a bad fire may break out, and we 
must be ready. For a big fire we have what we call 
second and third alarms. At a first alarm only four 
engines go to a fire. If I see when I reach the 
spot that it is likely to be a bad fire, I send in a 
second alarm, and that brings four more engines. 
If it is very dangerous, I send also a third alarm, 
and that calls four more ; twelve in all. Besides 
these there is what we call the general alarm, 666, 
which calls every engine in the city — more than a 
hundred of them. But I hope we will never have 
occasion to use that.” 

“Well, I ’m sure to see how you work at a fire,” 
Dick said, “ as I am to stay till I have a chance to 
go out with you.” 

“You might possibly have to wait a day or two,” 
the chief answered ; “ but often we go out three or 
four times in a day and night.” 

When Dick went downstairs again he discovered 
on one side of the big room a dial telegraph instru- 
ment with which the foreman communicated with 
headquarters ; and on the slate that hung by it he 
read this message, which evidently had just been 
sent : * — 

“ Richard Sumner has presented an order to 
remain here and accompany apparatus to fires. Is 
it genuine ? ” 


262 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Ah, ha ! ” he laughed ; “ they ’re not going to be 
caught napping with any forged order. I think it ’s 
the most perfectly organized system I ever saw.” 

“ How do you get up steam so fast in the boiler ? ” 
he asked the foreman. “ Of course you must be 
ready for work when you reach a fire.” 

“ I ’ll show you,” the foreman replied. “ To begin 
with, the boiler of the engine has two hundred and 
sixty flues, and that gives great heating surface. 
Then you see this pipe that comes up through the 
floor and fits over a corresponding pipe at the back 
of the engine ? When the engine is backed in, the 
two pipes run together, and when it goes out they 
separate and automatic valves close them up. 

“ Well, that pipe runs down into the cellar and 
connects with a furnace there in which a fire is 
always kept burning. The hot water runs up into 
the boiler, so, as you will easily see, the water in 
the boiler is always hot. That is a great help in 
making steam quickly. The furnace alone gives 
heat enough to keep five pounds of steam pressure 
always on the boiler. 

“ Then we burn English cannel coal, at twenty 
dollars a ton, because it is full of oil and burns 
rapidly. The engine’s furnace is piled full of com- 
bustible wood soaked in oil, with a layer of cannel 
coal on top — always ready to start a quick fire. 
The engineer has a little torch made of tow fastened 
to a bit of wood, with a fusee stuck in the end. 


A NIGHT TIDE ON A FITE ENGINE. 


The fusee will not blow out in the hardest wind, and 
the instant the engine goes out the door the engi- 
neer strikes it against the wheel and touches off his 
fire. Inside of two minutes he has a hundred 
pounds of steam on.” 

At that moment the battalion chief joined them. 

“We do everything,” he said, “on the principle 
that a minute’s work at the beginning of a fire is 
worth more than an hour’s work after it has gained 
headway. We must be on hand quickly ; and, as 
you see, we don’t waste much time.” 

Throughout the afternoon and early evening the 
engine was manned five or six times, and every 
time Dick was promptly in his place; but it did 
not go out. When bedtime came, between nine 
and ten o’clock, the chief gave him some final 
instructions. 

“And you must mind what I tell you,” he said, 
“ or you ’ll not get to the fire, if there is one.” 

“ I am used to obeying orders,” Dick replied. 

“ Very well then,” said the chief, “ here is order 
number one. You see that brass handle around the 
back of the boiler ? Hang on to that with both 
hands, for your life depends on it. At night when 
the streets are clean we go on a dead run, and turn- 
ing the corners will throw you off your feet.” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” said Dick. 

“ Order number two. Keep your eye on the 
horses. If a horse falls, jump for your life; for the 


264 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


tender will be right behind you, and it will be on top 
of you and crush you in a second.” 

“ Order number three. Here is a fireman’s hat 
for you and an old coat. See, I hang them on the 
end of the brass handle, near where you will stand. 
You see every man has his hat and an old coat hung 
by his place on the engine or tender. We don’t 
wear uniform at night, except the hat. These are 
all hung up ready for work in case we go out. Now 
come up stairs till I put you to bed properly.” 

“ Here is your bed,” he continued when they were 
in the third-story room, “ and here is a pair of rubber 
boots I can lend you. Take off your shoes and put 
these on ; you ’d never get into those shoes in time.” 

“ Am I to sleep in rubber boots ? ” Dick asked 
with a laugh. 4 

“ No ; but putthem on. That ’s right. Now stuff 
the ends of your trowsers into the tops of the boots. 
So. Now, then, strip down your trowsers till the 
top part is all inside out, and pull off both boots and 
trowsers, leaving the ends of the trowsers still stick- 
ing in the boot-tops. 

“That’s it; you’re doing famously. Now we 
stand the boots here by the side of the bed, with the 
trowsers skinned down partly over their legs, leaving 
a free passageway for a foot into each boot-leg. 
There ! now you ’ve gone to bed like a fireman. 

“Do you see the reason for all this?” the chief 
asked. “ When the tap of the bell wakes you, you 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 265 

spring out of bed, and down go your feet right into 
the boots. With the same movement you are inside 
your trowsers also, and you pull the trowsers up as 
you run to the pole. The hat and coat, being already 
on the engine, you put on whenever you get a 
chance. That is our secret of quick dressing. It is 
these little-things that help us get the engine out of 
the house in ten seconds from the tap of the bell. 

“ Now one more thing,” he continued. “ When 
you slide down the pole and land at the bottom, 
don’t stand there to look at the scenery but get out 
of the way. The man behind you will be right on 
top of you if you don’t move fast.” 

Dick found it hard work to go to sleep with the 
prospect of that dreadful gong ringing at any 
moment ; but at length he dropped off ; and when 
he awoke he did not have to collect his thoughts, 
for the gong was saying, — 

“ Tap-tap ! ” 

He had never put on boots and trowsers in a 
second and a half before, but he did it that time. 
He was not the last man at the pole, either ; there 
were two or three behind him. He remembered 
the danger at the foot of the pole and sprang to his 
place on the engine. The engineer and his assistant 
were already there ; the horses were in place ; the 
driver was in his seat with the reins in his hands. 
The man stood by the big doors, ready to throw 
them open. 


266 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Tap-tap ! ” the gong had already struck, and 
somebody on the tender had called out “ Two ! ” 

“ Tap-tap-tap-tap ! ” said the gong. 

“ Four ! ” said the voice. 

Two-four. Not one of Number Fours alarms yet. 

“ Tap-tap ! ” said the gong. 

“ Two-four-two,” said the voice ; but long before 
the words were finished the big doors flew open and 
out went the company with a rush ; engine first, 
tender following. Out with a bound across the 
floor ; with a heavy holding in as the engine swung 
into the street ; with a mad, whirlwind dash down 
Liberty Street. 

There was a whip in the socket, but the driver did 
not take it out. The horses were wild with excite- 
ment. 

“Hi! hi! hi! hi!” the driver shouted; for the 
street was clear and he wanted their top speed. 
They seemed to Dick to be entirely beyond control 
already. “ Hi ! hi ! ” On they flew, faster and faster 
every moment. 

Thick black smoke was pouring out of the funnel, 
and the tender was right behind. Dick kept his 
eye on the horses, remembering his orders. He 
breathed nothing but smoke and cinders, but no 
matter. 

Excitement ? Take all the horse races that ever 
were run, all the boat races that ever were rowed, 
all the Roman gladiatorial combats tossed in a heap ; 



ON THEY FLEW, FASTER AND FASTER EVERY MOMENT, 








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4 


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A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE . 


mix in a thousand bull fights and a year’s railroad 
accidents, a century of Presidential elections and a 
hundred wars in the East, — and you get a faint idea 
of the flash and fury of .a night ride on a fire engine 
through the streets of New York. Dick felt the 
blood pumping in his veins. 

“ Hold fast ! ” the engineer shouted. And as the 
engine swung into Pearl Street at a terrific gait 
Dick’s feet flew out and nothing but his grip upon 
the brass bar saved him. 

“Where is it?” he shouted to the engineer; no 
ordinary tone could have been heard in that din. 

“ Pearl above Fulton,” was the answer. 

How cool the engineer was ! and all the fireman, 
for that matter. This man was calmly testing his 
watercocks, while his assistant oiled the machinery. 
The steam-gauge stood at one hundred and five. 

“ Hi ! hi ! hi ! ” There was the fire bursting 
from the fourth-story windows of an old-fashioned 
brick warehouse, almost beside them ; but there 
was no let-up in th%speed till the last moment. 
Then the engine stopped “ all at once,” as Dick said 
to himself ; and the tender stopped close by a fire 
hydrant, and some of the men began to unwind 
part of the fifteen lengths, seven hundred and fifty 
feet, of hose it carried. 

Number Four was the first engine on the spot, 
being nearest the fire ; and even in his excitement 
Dick could not help but admire the beautiful system 


263 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


with which everything was done. The foreman of 
the first company to arrive was in charge of the fire 
till the battalion chief arrived in his wagon ; and 
the battalion chief was in command till the chief 
of the whole department came. 

But wonderfully few orders were given, because 
every man knew just what to do and did it. A 
pipe was run from the hydrant to the engine, and 
the hose was attached to the engine’s discharge 
pipe. Four men meanwhile were throwing their 
weight against the steel doors of the building ; for 
the warehouse was provided with outer doors and 
shutters of steel. 

But the doors would not yield, and out came the 
axes from the tender. 

Crash ! crash ! Ah, how those big axes cut 
through the steel ! In a few seconds the doors 
were cut away as if they had been made of paste- 
board. 

“ Man the pipe ! ” 

Dick had not been told what his duties were to 
be at an actual fire. But his blood was up ; he was 
bound to do something, and seeing four men enter 
the doorway with the line of hose, he sprang for- 
ward and joined them in a scramble up the steep 
wooden stairways of the burning building. 

As he passed through the doorway a long hook- 
and- ladder truck came dashing down Pearl Street. 

Up they went wih a rush to the top story, 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 269 

dragging the hose with them. There was hardly 
time to take a long breath before a stream of water 
was playing upon the fire. Through the windows 
Dick saw the ladders from the long truck, and in a 
minute more firemen of another company were 
cutting a hole through the roof and throwing in 
their own stream of water. The smoke was blind- 
ing, but the fire was soon under control. 

When the order was given to “ shut off Number 
Four,” Dick returned to the street, where he found 
the scene greatly changed. Hundreds of people 
had gathered, and the police had formed the “ fire 
lines ” to keep them back out of danger. Several 
more engines were in sight, and three long exten- 
sion ladders reached the top of the building. 
Besides, there was a big wagon that he recognized 
as the property of the fire patrol ; a wagon filled 
with rubber blankets, which the men spread over 
the goods in the lower stories to protect them from 
damage by water. 

All these things were done so rapidly that Dick 
was bewildered. The time was not measured by 
minutes but by seconds. From the time of the 
first tap on the gong till Number Four reached the 
burning building, less than two hundred seconds 
passed. Then in fifty seconds more the first stream 
of water was playing upon the fire. 

“ I saw you going up with the hose,” the bat- 
talion chief said when they returned to the engine- 


270 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


house. “ So you have had some experience as a 
fireman. Now the men go to work and clean the 
engine and make ready for another alarm. We may 
have another call like that at any moment — or a 
much worse one.” 

Dick concluded that he had swallowed enough 
smoke and cinders to give him a clear idea of fire 
department work; “but I shall stick it out through 
the night,” he said. “ I belong to the company at 
present ; and if the engine goes out again, I go 
with her.” 

There were no more calls that took the engine 
out that night, and when he went home in time for 
breakfast he knew that he had material for one of 
his best articles. But writing it occupied the whole 
day, and the novel had to stand. 

“ Now I hope they’ll let me have a week without 
any more interruptions,” he said to himself next 
day when he took up a handful of his latest pages 
and read them over to start in the right vein. “ I 
am making as much money as I did on salary, but 
I should rather lose a little money than be inter- 
rupted so often. If I could just have a month to 
myself, I ’d soon finish the book.” 

His wish was not quite gratified, but almost. He 
had days at a time to go on with his work, and the 
interruptions were brief. Steadily the heap of 
manuscript grew, and nearer and nearer the end 
approached. 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 


271 


“ Now, Dick, you must stop and rest,” Mrs. Sum- 
ner said to him one day, entering the parlor when 
he had accidentally left the door unlocked. They 
all laughed at his habit of locking the door, Dick as 
well as the rest. “ But it makes me feel so much 
more secure. I don’t like to feel that anybody can 
suddenly walk in and bother me,” he said. 

“You must stop and rest,” Mrs. Sumner said. 
“You’ve been writing and writing and writing 
till you ’re as pale as a ghost, and I ’m sure 
you don’t eat anything. Do just look at that pile 
of pages you ’ve written ! I believe it grows an inch 
or two thicker every day, Dick.” 

“ Give me a week more, mother,” he replied, 
“ and I ’ll take all the rest you like. Just one week 
more, and the great book will be finished. I don’t' 
know how it ’s going to turn out, whether it will go 
or not ; but it will be a relief to have it finished, at 
any rate.” 

“Go!” his mother exclaimed; “what’s the use 
of talking that way, Dick ? Of course it will go. 
Everything you ’ve ever written, almost, has gone, 
and why should n’t this ? The best publisher in the 
land will be only too glad to get it, with your name 
at the top.” 

“ Oh, I suppose they ’d make a grand scramble 
for it if they knew anything about it ! ” Dick laughed. 
“ They ’d be rushing up here with checks and green- 
backs till I ’d have to keep a clerk to count them. 


272 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


But seriously, mother,” — and he got up and put his 
arm lovingly around his mother’s waist, — “ do you 
know why I am so anxious to write a successful 
novel ? ” 

“ Why, to make you rich and famous, I suppose,” 
Mrs. Sumner answered, looking proudly up into his 
face. 

“ I want to make some money for my sweetheart, 
mother dear,” Dick said. “ And you are the only 
sweetheart I ever had or ever expect to have. Some 
day Florrie will be leaving us, and she and Darling 
will have a house of their own in the city. Then if 
I have the money and don’t have to be at the office 
every day, my little sweetheart and I can have a 
snug little cottage out of town somewhere (in 
Russellville, for instance), with a lawn in front 
and a garden behind, and honeysuckle climbing 
over the piazza. Then I can write, write, write, all 
day, as you put it. I don’t really believe you like 
living in a flat any better than I do, little sweet- 
heart.” 

“O Dick!” His mother’s head was on his 
shoulder now, and her voice was choked with tears. 
“ I ’ve never liked it as well as the old house, but I 
would n’t have said so for the world. But to think 
of going back to Russellville and attending my own 
church again ! It ’s never seemed like home in 
these big city churches, Dick ; and I do so like to 
have a yard to walk about in. And that ’s what my 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 273 

boy has been working so hard for. O Dick, Dick, 
what a good son you are ! But you ’re not growing 
tired of newspaper work, are you, Dick ? ” 

“Tired of it!” Dick exclaimed; “why it ’s meat 
and drink to me, mother. I think I should wilt and 
wither if I did n’t do some reporting. But if I can do 
it occasionally, and at the same time be able to write 
and sell novels, you see how nicely everything will 
go with us. I may be making a mistake ; nobody 
may like my book.” 

“ Don’t talk that way, Dick,” his mother said. 
“ You know that everybody will like it. And I ’m 
afraid you are nearer right than you imagine about 
Florrie. I ’m afraid that she and Darling will soon 
be leaving us.” 

“All the more haste then for the novel,” Dick 
laughed. “ Let me have another hour at it this 
afternoon, and then I ’ll take a rest till after supper.” 

Day and night, almost, he continued to struggle 
with the book ; for it was nothing less than a 
struggle. To write the story was comparatively 
easy ; if it had been only a long story, he would have 
finished it quickly enough. But a novel is more 
than a long story. He must develop the characters 
of his heroes and heroines, and develop them in 
such a way that every incident and every conversa- 
tion advanced the plot. 

When at length it was finished he began to have 
more doubts about it than he had felt while he was 


274 THE Y0UNG REPORTER. 

actually at work. Somehow the bright points that 
he had had in mind did not appear so bright when 
he saw them on paper. Some of the best of them 
he had omitted entirely ; they were clear enough in 
his mind, but they did not get into the manuscript. 

“ I don’t quite know what to make of it, Darling, 
now it ’s done,” he said ; and Darling noticed a 
shade of worry in his face. “ I can’t tell for the life 
of me whether it is good for anything or not.” 

“Of course you can’t,” Darling answered. “ No 
writer can form a just opinion of his own work while 
it is fresh in his mind. He knows what he intended 
to do and say, but whether he really has said and 
done those things on paper is beyond his compre- 
hension till the thing cools off. I don’t pretend to 
be much of a writer myself, but I am acquainted 
with some famous authors and that is what they tell 
me. The only way to judge fairly of your own 
manuscript is to bury it in the bottom of a deep 
trunk for a year or two, till you have forgotten all 
about it. By that time the characters and the inci- 
dents are all new to you, and you can see the weak 
points and strengthen them. ” 

“Ah, if I only could do that!” Dick exclaimed. 
“ But that is possible only for the millionaires who 
write for fun or fame. A man who writes for 
money cannot afford to do it — at least, not at the 
start. You see I have no hesitation in saying that 
I write for money. Other men use their brains in 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 275 

great commercial enterprises for money ; you use 
yours in the service of the Transport for money ; 
Mr. Harding uses his in editing the paper for 
money ; why should not I use mine in writing novels 
for money ? I think it is perfectly legitimate.” 

“ I agree with you,” Darling laughed. “ It is 
perfectly legitimate to write novels for money; the 
thing is to get the money. You must give the 
public something they want before you can get 
their money. But I think it is just as well for you 
that you can’t afford to let your manuscript lie for 
a year before you try to sell it. My honest opinion 
is, Dick, that if you were to let that book lie by for 
a year and then read it, you would wonder how you 
could possibly have written anything quite so bad. 
Mind you, I say this without knowing anything 
about your novel. I say it on general principles. 
That is the experience of most writers.” 

“ It is a very discouraging outlook ! ” Dick 
exclaimed. 

“Not at all!” Darling asserted. “On the con- 
trary, it is a sure sign of progress. If you keep on 
writing for a year, you will know much more about 
novels and about literature in general than you 
know now. You will judge your early work by 
higher standards. When a writer looks at his last 
year’s work and sees how bad it was, it is a strong 
indication that he is doing better work this year, and 
that he will do still better next year.” 


276 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ I have put my heart and soul into this book, 
Darling,” Dick burst out. “ That is Besant’s advice 
to young novelists, you know, and I have followed 
it. ‘ Drain yourself dry,’ he says, in substance ; 

* more heart and soul will come to you in time for 
the next one.’ I think I have done the best I am 
capable of.” 

“ Well, if you are going to throw Besant at me,” 
Darling retorted, “ I will give you some more of 
him : ‘ Always watch how it is looking from before 
the footlights,’ he says. That is, see how it appears 
to the audience — to the reader. You know what 
your meaning is, but do you make it clear and 
entertaining to the reader? The probabilities are 
that you don’t in a first novel. 

“ No ; I am not trying to discourage you,” he 
went on, seeing the disappointed look on Dick’s 
face. “ But I know you have your hopes set very 
high on this book, and I want to prepare you for 
what may happen. You must remember that not 
every good newspaper writer can write a good novel. 
Besides, how many writers have made a success 
of a first novel? You don’t need half your fingers 
to count them on. However, it is done, and the 
publishers will have it read by men who are good 
judges, and they will form a cool-headed — perhaps 
I might say a cool-blooded — opinion of it. That is 
where the publisher is the young writer’s best friend, 
preventing him often from making a fool of himself 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE . 277 

in print. It will probably go through the hands of 
several readers, for I think it will hardly be bad 
enough to be condemned positively by the first man. 
But now that you have your article manufactured, 
what are you going to do with it ? Where is your 
market ? ” 

“ I have written to Brounlow & Company, the 
publishers,” Dick replied, “ (they publish The Illus- 
trated Weekly, you know, so they are familiar with 
my work), telling them what I have, and asking 
them to examine it. And they have answered that 
they will be happy to see it. That was the proper 
way to go at it, was n’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, that is the usual process.” 

“ And the manuscript is going to them to-morrow, 
and then we ’ll see what we ’ll see.” 

With the novel out of the house Dick gave all 
his time to newspaper work again, and it seemed so 
easy and so pleasant after the long daily tasks he 
had been doing ! It was profitable too, for with his 
fifteen dollars a column he made more money than 
he had made on salary. 

He could not reasonably expect to hear from the 
novel within three or four weeks, but at the expira- 
tion of a fortnight he began to watch his daily 
letters for one of the familiar envelopes of Broun- 
low & Company. And at length it came, and Dick 
punished his own impatience by looking for some 
time at the outside before he tore it open. There 


278 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


was no telling what grand offer for the manuscript 
the letter might contain. 

“ We have read your novel with much pleasure,” 
the letter said, “ and we regret that we do not find 
it suited to our present needs. The manuscript is 
returned this day by registered mail.” 

Dick did not gasp for breath when he read it, or 
fall helplessly back into a chair, but he was terribly 
disappointed. To be sure, there were hundreds of 
other publishers, some of whom might want it ; but 
for Brounlow & Company to refuse it he considered 
a bad sign. 

Refuse it ? Of course that was what it meant. 
Dick had heard of such letters before. A merchant 
says bluntly that he does n’t want the goods that are 
offered him ; but a publisher, more polite, reads 
everything offered with a pleasure little short of 
delight, and is torn with poignant regret over what 
he is compelled to send back. 

For the next few months the postoffice depart- 
ment derived considerable revenue from Dick’s 
novel. After the Brounlow incident he sent it to 
Whitelow & Company, who read it with interest and 
returned it by registered mail. Pinklow & Com- 
pany, Greenlow & Company, Blacklow & Company, 
— all the primary colors and many of the tints took 
it under consideration ; some read it with interest 
and some with pleasure, but they were all of one 
mind about returning it by registered mail. 


A NIGHT RIDE ON A FIRE ENGINE. 2jQ 

“ It ’s a dead, flat failure, old fellow ! ” the unsuc- 
cessful author said to Darling when he concluded to 
waste no more postage stamps. 

“ It’s a pretty strong verdict against it, that’s a 
fact,” Darling admitted. “ Suppose you let me read 
it some day before you pfant it in the bottom of 
your trunk.” 

“You’re a lucky fellow, Dick,” was Darling’s 
opinion after the reading. “ If anybody had pub- 
lished that, you ’d never have stopped kicking your- 
self. It ’s as different from your newspaper work as 
day is from night — worse I mean. Occasionally 
there is a gleam of intellect in it, too. I should 
hardly fill up my trunk with it, unless you ’re in 
need of ballast.” 

Florrie’s was the only dissenting voice. “ There ’s 
a conspiracy against you, Dick,” she insisted. “You 
have done something or other to offend those pub- 
lishers, or their readers are jealous of your splendid 
work and don’t intend to give you a chance. It’s 
perfectly shameful the way they treat you ! ” 

But Florrie had not read the novel. 


CHAPTER XV. 


“ THE THROUGH SLEEPER.” 

TV /TR. HARDING tells me you have asked for a 
month’s vacation, Dick, and that he has 
given it to you,” Darling said one night when they 
were eating their late supper together. “ I am glad 
to hear it ; a rest will do you good.” 

“ I went to him direct instead of applying to you,” 
Dick answered, “ because I thought it might be 
awkward for you to grant it, though you would not 
want to refuse me. But it is not for a rest ; I am 
going to do some more writing.” 

Nearly six months had passed since Dick had 
arrived at the melancholy conclusion that the novel 
was a failure. He had borne his disappointment man- 
fully, working harder than ever and making himself 
not only by all means the best reporter on the Trans- 
port, but one of the very best in New York. Be- 
sides his regular work, he had been doing a number 
of humorous sketches for his own paper and for the 
syndicates, and they had proved as popular as the 
best of his descriptive articles. With these and his 
Transport pay he had added largely to his savings, 
and nothing seemed lacking to make him happy but 
the one thing he had striven for and failed to obtain. 


“ THE THROUGH SLEEPER .’ 


281 


“ Oh, ho ! ” Darling exclaimed. “ Going to do 
some more writing, are you ? I thought you ’d 
hardly be satisfied with one trial, and that a failure. 
Is it another novel, Dick ? ” 

A weaker man might have been confused at the 
mere mention of novel-writing after such a decided 
rebuff, but Dick saw nothing to be ashamed of in 
the failure he had made. He had done his best, 
and though the result was unfortunate, it was not 
disgraceful. 

“ I have not given up the idea of novel-writing,” 
he answered; “ not by any means. But I know a 
heap more than I did a year ago, Darling. I can 
see now that I was one of the fools who ‘ rush in 
where angels fear to tread.’ I was entirely too 
young and inexperienced then to undertake a novel, 
just as I am now. I tried to fly too high. I won- 
der that you did n’t tell me so, for you must have 
known it.” 

“ I am delighted to hear you say so, Dick,” Dar- 
ling answered. “ Of course I knew it. But I saw 
that you had your heart set upon writing a novel, 
and I thought the best way was to let you find out 
for yourself. You had had so much success with 
your newspaper articles that it was natural for you 
to think yourself something of a writer. Nothing 
but experience, I knew, would teach you that a man 
needs great knowledge of the world and of human 
nature to write a really good novel. 


282 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ You learned that,” Darling went on ; “ and from 
the way you swallowed the unpleasant medicine I 
knew that some good would come of it. There 
was no sulking about you, no bitterness, no repin- 
ing. You pitched into newspaper work harder than 
ever and fell to reading whenever you had a chance. 
I may tell you now, though I did not want to raise 
your hopes at the time, that I found a great deal of 
the real stuff in your novel when I read it. The 
construction was bad and the style rather stilted 
(two faults that were pretty sure to kill it), but there 
was enough meat in it to convince me that you will 
write a real novel some day if you keep at it.” 

“I’m awfully glad to hear you say so, old chap ; ” 
and Dick spoke as though he meant it. “ But that 
will be in the dim and distant future. They gave 
my wings such a clipping I ’ll not undertake to fly 
again in a hurry ; I must learn to walk first. It ’s 
not a novel I am after this time, but something much 
simpler and shorter. It is a humorous sketch of 
American life on the rail that I want to write, to the 
title of ‘ The Through Sleeper.’ It will be about 
forty or fifty thousand words ; and if some publisher 
will take it up and illustrate it in the way I have in 
mind, I think it will go. I can do it easily in a 
month.” 

Through the whole of the month’s vacation Dick 
worked almost day and night. 

“ No, I don’t want to go and exercise in the park,” 


THE THROUGH SLEEPER: 


283 


he said when his friends tried to get him out of the 
house ; “I don’t want to hear the birds sing or see 
the lambs gambol on the green. I have no business 
with such things just now. I live in ‘ The Through 
Sleeper’ at present, and my head is full of air brakes 
and coal dust and lower berths, and I don’t want 
anything to drive them out till I put a dash at the 
end of the story.” 

When the month expired he went down to the 
office, looking thinner and paler, but as full of energy 
as ever. 

“ Now, then, Darling,” he said, “ here I am, ready 
for the old work again. ‘ The Through Sleeper ’ has 
started on time. I have gone through the regulation 
correspondence with Brounlow & Company. They 
have asked to see my work, and it has gone to 
them ; and I have resolved to think no more about 
it till I hear from them. Perhaps it will go and 
perhaps it won’t. If that does n’t go, I ’ll write some- 
thing that will ; they may depend on that ; they may 
even drive me to writing verses yet, if they continue 
to return my prose.” 

“ You are back just in time to do a little artistic 
work for us,” Darling replied. “There is some 
trouble among the students down at Princeton, and 
I want you to go down there and write us a good 
story. If it turns out well, you might telegraph 
about a column of it, for you cannot get through in 
time to bring or mail it. You will have to see Dr. 


284 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


McCosh, of course, and get both sides of the story 
from the students.” 

It was after six o’clock in the evening when Dick 
reached Princeton, and he walked directly over to 
the college grounds and called at President McCosh’s 
house. His conversation with the president con- 
vinced him that the story was a capital one, and that 
he would have at least a column to send. 

“ Now I must look out for my wires,” he said to 
himself; “ these country telegraph offices have an 
awkward way of closing early in the evening some- 
times, and I can’t have my copy ready much before 
midnight.” 

He went to the telegraph office and introduced 
himself to the operator. 

“ I want to send a two thousand w r ord special to 
the Transport to-night,” he said. “ I will have the 
first copy in about half-past eleven.” 

“You can ’t do it from this office ! ” the operator 
replied very gruffly. “ We close at eight o’clock.” 

“ But you would n’t close at eight with a two 
thousand word special in sight, would you ? ” Dick 
asked. He knew that a month’s regular business in 
the office would hardly amount to two thousand 
words. 

“ We close at eight o’clock ! ” was the only reply ; 
and the operator said it very decidedly. 

“Well, suppose I pay you a couple of dollars for 
your trouble in keeping open ? ” Dick suggested. 


“ THE THROUGH SLEEPER .” 285 

“ Can’t be done ! ” the operator snarled. “ I tell 
you we close at eight o’clock.” 

“Then maybe five dollars would make it an object 
to you ? ” 

“ No, nor five hundred ! ” snapped the operator. 
“ I have an engagement to-night, and I would n’t 
keep the office open for fifty specials.” 

The situation was growing serious. He must get 
the special off, and there was no other telegraph 
office within reach. Dick had had some experience 
with unaccommodating operators, but precisely such 
a refusal as this he had not met before. He thought 
it over for a few moments and then said quietly: — 

“ Let me have a blank, please.” 

The operator pushed a pad of blanks through the 
window, and Dick wrote this message : — 

Superintendent Western Union, New York. 

Please instruct Princeton operator to keep open till midnight 
for two thousand word Transport special. 

Richard Sumner, Transport Correspondent . 

Usually newspaper dispatches are sent “ collect” ; 
that is, they are paid not for at the sending office, 
but are charged to the newspaper and paid in the 
monthly bill. But Dick laid a silver half-dollar on 
top of his dispatch, as he pushed it back to the 
operator, to make sure. 

As the operator picked up the message and read 
it his face flushed. 

“ Oh, say ! ” he exclaimed ; “ you don’t need to 


286 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


send this message. I ’ll keep open for you all 
night. If you were to send that, they ’d make 
inquiries why you had to send it, and then they ’d 
bounce me, sure.” 

It was precisely what Dick had anticipated ; he 
was sure the operator would not let the message go 
through ; for a two thousand word special is not to 
be despised even by a great telegraph company, and 
the company would not have much further use for 
an operator who refused one. 

“ Of course they would,” he answered ; “ but that 
is your affair, not mine. My business is to get my 
dispatch through, even though it gives you some 
extra work. As you agree to keep open for me 
you can tear the dispatch up and give me back the 
money ; but I give you fair warning that if you 
close the office I shall have to report you.” 

“ That ’s a wrinkle that I must tell the boys 
about,” Dick said to himself as he went out to 
finish gathering his facts. “ Every reporter has 
trouble about getting his dispatches through some- 
times, and a message to the superintendent opens 
the way in a hurry.” A few months before, when 
he was constantly in touch with the telegraph 
offices, he would have thought nothing of such an 
incident ; but now he was glad to find that the old 
newspaper instinct was still strong within him ; he 
was half-afraid that novel- writing and story-writing 
might have spoiled him for reporting. 


THE THROUGH SLEEPER .’ 


287 


His next work was a large political meeting in 
the Metropolitan Opera House, at which some of the 
great statesmen of the country were the speakers. 
Several of the speeches were to be reported in full, 
and Dick expected to be put in charge of at least 
four or five reporters, as he had often been before. 
His own part was to write about a column and a 
half of introduction and description. But no other 
reporters were sent with him, and he soon found 
that a new order of things had begun in steno- 
graphic reporting. 

“ It was a narrow escape I had,” he thought, “ for 
at one time I had a strong notion to learn shorthand 
writing. Even when I began work on the Trans- 
port it was quite the fashion for the reporters to 
learn stenography. But I was a lucky fellow that 
I did not waste the time over it, for it has become 
a separate business entirely, and has nothing to do 
any more with real reporting. The new way is 
much better for the paper, too, because much 
quicker.” 

It was a pleasure to him to see how the system of 
verbatim reporting had improved. Instead of send- 
ing a half-dozen reporters to take the speeches 
desired, the Transport had simply sent for one of 
the new order of employing stenographers, and told 
him what speeches were desired in full. This man 
attended the meeting with a dozen messenger boys 
in waiting. He took all the notes himself, and as 


288 


THE YOUNG REPORTER, 


fast as he filled a page or two with notes a messen- 
ger boy rushed off with it to the stenographer’s 
office near Printing House Square, where a half- 
dozen young stenographers, all trained to read their 
employer’s notes, were ready to write them out in 
full. As fast as the pages of copy were ready they 
were sent over to the Transport office ; and so 
rapidly was it all done that by the time the last 
speaker finished, the previous speeches were in 
type. More marvelous still, some of the earlier 
speakers, while still on the platform, were actually 
shown proofs of the speeches they had delivered an 
hour before. 

“ I must be growing old ! ” Dick said to himself, 

“ to see these changes going on in newspaper 
systems. Some day they may do away with re- 
porters altogether. I hope my novels or funny 
sketches will begin to sell before that time 
comes.” 

In less than a month after the completion of 
“The Through Sleeper” he found a letter from 
Brounlow & Company waiting for him in the office. 
It contained simply a request that he call and see 
them, and he found time to go the same day. 

“ Our readers have given a very favorable opin- 
ion of ‘ The Through Sleeper,’ Mr. Sumner,” one of 
the members of the firm said to him. “In fact 
they consider it unusually good ; but of course we • 
never can tell how such a thing may strike the 


*• THE THROUGH SLEEPER .’ 


289 


public. We have decided that we can offer you five 
hundred dollars for it, for publication in The Illus- 
trated Weekly, the story to be brought out in book 
form immediately after the serial publication, well 
illustrated, in a one-dollar volume. On sales of the 
book, of course, we will pay you the usual ten per 
cent, royalty.” 

Here was a victory at last ! That was Dicks first 
thought ; but a moment later he began to consider 
that the battle was not half-won yet. It was only 
the publisher who was convinced so far of the 
excellence of his story. The publisher was willing 
to risk his money in bringing out the book, but it 
was the public who had to give the final verdict. 
If the public liked the book well enough to buy it, 
the publisher would buy more stories from him. 
But if otherwise — why, then otherwise. 

Some imposingly long blank contracts were filled 
out and signed, and “ The Through Sleeper ” became 
the property of Brounlow & Company, under cer- 
tain conditions. Dick read the contract through 
before signing it, like a prudent business man ; but 
in the end he had only a confused notion of having 
agreed to all sorts of odd things about reading 
proofs, charge for changes in type, sale of copies at 
trade price, insurance of stereotype plates, and 
assignment of copyright. 

It had long been a heroic notion of Dick’s that 
when he got his first check for a piece of real 


290 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


literary work, if indeed he ever did get one, he 
would carry it lovingly to his mother and lay it in 
her hands. 

“ There, mother,” he would say, “ that is the first 
money I have made out of literature. It is yours, 
every cent of it ; buy yourself something nice with 
it.” And then he would hold his mother in his 
arms and kiss her, and she would congratulate him 
on his success. He thought of this while he sat in 
the Brounlow office. But this little castle in the 
air crumbled, as so many of them do. 

“ Our custom is to pay for serial stories as they, 
appear,” the partner said. “ ‘ The Through Sleeper’ 
will run through five numbers, so we will pay you 
one hundred dollars for each instalment as fast as it 
is published. I suppose that will be satisfactory?” 

“ That will answer every purpose,” Dick replied ; 
he would not say that it was satisfactory, for he had 
set his heart on a good plump check to carry home. 
But never mind ; he had good news to carry — news 
that was better than the check. 

There was no telling how soon the story might 
appear, or how long it might be kept waiting ; even 
the publishers could not tell that, so much depended 
upon circumstances. Dick had heard of manuscript 
being kept for months, even years, in the publishers’ 
safes, after it was accepted and paid for. 

Weeks passed without any signs of “The Through 
Sleeper ” ; and the weeks grew into months, Dick 


THE THROUGH SLEEPER: 


29I 


was sent on a mission to the far Northwest, and for 
many days he saw no newspapers. He was in the 
midst of his work there when a very short note 
came from Darling. 

“ No time to write you a letter to-night, Dick,” 
the note said. 

“Just want to tell you your ‘ Through Sleeper’ 
began in to-day’s Illustrated Weekly. 

“ I read it at lunch time ; it ’s immense. The 
fellows say it ’s the funniest thing that ’s appeared in 
this generation ; I think so, too. 

“ They’re all talking about it. If it holds out as 
it begins, you ’ve made a hit, sure. 

“ All well at home. Yours, Darling.” 

Dick’s face flushed as he read the note — the old 
flush around the temples that he had not felt for 
many a day. 

It was an army post that he was staying at, and in 
a few days more a bundle of papers arrived, among 
them some copies of The Illustrated Weekly. 

“ Why did n’t you tell us you were an author as 
well as a correspondent, Sumner ? ” the officers 
asked after they had read the story. They had been 
very hospitable before, but now they could hardly 
do enough for him. Of course they told him how 
much they enjoyed the story ; but what was much 
better was to see them splitting their sides with 
laughter over it, and to hear them talking 
about it. 


292 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


“ Score two points ! ” Dick said to himself. 
“ They like my story in the office, and they like it 
at the army post ; but they ’re all my friends. That 
fickle old military man, General Public, is still to be 
heard from.” 

Four of the five numbers had appeared when 
Dick returned to New York, and there was no longer 
any doubt about the fate of “ The Through Sleeper.” 
It was not only a success ; it had carried everything 
by storm. 

“ Oh, you go take ‘ De T’rew Sleeper’ ! ” he heard 
one newsboy say to another on his way to the office ; 
and he reflected that newsboys do not commonly 
read The Illustrated Weekly stories, so they must 
have heard the expression from some one else. 
Yes, it was true enough. Everybody was talking 
about it and repeating odd sayings from it. 

In the office he had to go through an ordeal 
of congratulations. Not only Darling, but Jack 
Randall, Lawrence, Herrick, Banks, Black, and a 
dozen others, told him how glad they were that he 
had made such a success. Even Mr. Harding sent 
for him. 

“ I ’m much obliged to you, Sumner,” the editor- 
in-chief said. “You have given me more good 
laughs than I had had in an age before. I ’ll never 
be able to ride in a sleeper again without thinking 
of you. It is good clean humor, too ; wholesome, 
easily digested.” 


“ THE THROUGH SLEEPER: 


293 


The welcome at home was equally flattering. 
“ You Ve about killed mother and me,” was Florrie’s 
salutation. “ We ’re just sore with laughing over 
that ‘ Through Sleeper.’ How in the world could 
you do it, Dick ? You ’re never a bit funny at 
home.” 

“ I don’t have time to be,” was the only answer 
Dick could give. 

He might have been hand-shaken to death if he 
had not been sent to Washington to write a series 
of articles about the National Capital — a mission 
that required time, and that was sure to keep him 
away for several weeks. He was walking down 
Pennsylvania Avenue one day when his eye was 
caught by an attractive poster on a bill-board. 
There was a big picture of a railway train, with red 
fire puffing out of the engine’s black smokestack, 
and some lettering above and below the picture. 

“ Just a railroad advertisement,” he said to him- 
self, and went on. But in an instant he stopped 
and turned back. He had not clearly read the 
words, but something about them seemed familiar. 

“The Through Sleeper,” he read on the poster in 
letters six inches long. 

Then came the picture of a train made up of 
sleeping-cars, and underneath the picture several 
more big lines : — 

“ By Richard Sumner. 

“The Talk of the Town. — New York Herald. 


294 


THE YOUNG REPORTER . 


“ Nothing recent has approached it in wit and 
vigor. — New York Transport. 

“ All Booksellers. . . . One Dollar.” 

This was Dick’s first intimation that his work had 
appeared in book form. He soon found a book 
store and bought a copy and went to his room in 
Willard’s Hotel to examine it. It was “ alive with 
illustrations,” as he said, and they added greatly to 
its handsome appearance. The printer, the engraver, 
the binder, had all helped to make an attractive 
volume. 

For two or three weeks after the appearance of 
the book he was busy among the public buildings, 
going through the Smithsonian Institution and the 
National Museum, the Treasury building, and scores 
of others. One of his articles was to be a charac- 
teristic description of the White House ; and with 
the aid of the Transport’s Washington correspond- 
ent Dick secured an appointment with the 
President. 

When the hour arrived he was shown to the 
second story of the White House, where the offices 
are ; and for a few minutes he was kept waiting in 
the broad hall where Tad Lincoln used to play while 
his father was closeted in an adjoining room with 
Seward and Sumner, Grant and Sherman, and many 
another man of note. At length the private secre- 
tary stepped out and ushered him into the apart- 
ment where so much of the history of this nation 


“ THE THROUGH SLEEPER* 


295 


has been made, — the Chief Executive’s private 
office, — and he was introduced to the President of 
the United States. 

“ Glad to meet you, Mr. Sumner,” was the Presi- 
dent’s greeting. “ I suppose you came down in 
Ihe Through Sleeper? You have kept us all 
laughing here for the last two or three weeks.” 

The President himself took Dick over the White 
House and through the conservatories; and when 
he returned to the hotel he found one of Darling’s 
short letters waiting for him. 

“ Brounlows announce ten thousand ‘Through 
Sleepers ’ sold up to to-day,” the letter said. 

“The Transport fellows propose to give you a 
dinner at Delmonico’s. You fix the date and wire 
answer.” 

It did not take Dick long to prepare the answer. 
“ Dinner declined with thanks,” he telegraphed. 
So many congratulations had been a worriment to 
him for some time, and he was sure he could not 
stand a whole evening of it around a dinner table. 

But he was not to get out of it so easily. “ Can- 
not be declined,” Darling wired later in the day; 
“ arrangements all made. Fix the date.” 

Very reluctantly he selected the next Thursday 
evening, and necessarily he returned to New York 
on the Thursday afternoon. He expected to feel 
uncomfortable, with everybody staring at him and 
talking about him in one of Delmonico’s great 


296 


THE YOUNG REPORTER. 


private rooms, but it proved different. “ The old 
man ” himself was there, and Darling, of course, and 
Mr. Brown, who was in Dr. Goode’s place, and Jack 
Randall, and about fifteen more from the Transport 
office, and men from several of the other papers — all 
of whom Dick knew ; and with great thoughtfulness 
they had invited Mr. Davis, the editor of The Rus- 
sellville Record, Dick’s former employer. Several 
members of the Brounlow firm were present, too ; 
it was a real family party with no strangers to chill 
the atmosphere. 

When the coffee cups came round after dinner, 
the diners were not content to abide by the toast 
program they had made, but began to shout for 
“ Sumner ! Sumner ! ” 

Dick was compelled to make a speech, and he 
did it very modestly and sensibly. He liked to write 
funny stories, he said, particularly when they paid 
well; but for real thorough enjoyment nothing 
suited him as well as regular newspaper reporting. 
He hoped that no matter what happened he might 
always be able to devote at least part of his time to 
reporting and newspaper correspondence ; and he 
wished that his lines might always fall among as 
able and kind and true a set of comrades as his 
fellows of the Transport. 

There was great cheering when Dick sat down, 
and then came calls for “ Mr. Harding ! Mr. Hard- 
ing ! The chief ! ” 


THE THROUGH SLEEPER .’ 


297 


“ Gentlemen,” Mr. Harding began when he arose 
amid the clapping of hands, “ this is an unusual 
sight for Delmonico’s — a banqueting table upon 
which no wine glasses appear. I see in this a 
delicate compliment to the guest we have assembled 
to honor, who has shown us that he is capable of 
doing hard work and good work without the use 
of wine or stronger liquids. You have honored 
yourselves by honoring his principles in this way.” 

He went on to pay a tribute to Dick’s character 
that brought the red flush about the young author’s 
temples again. He was industrious, he was manly, 
he was upright ; true, solid, unwavering, always in 
what he thought was right. 

“ Ask me to show you a man of brains,” he con- 
cluded ; “ a man who has done many good things 
and who is destined to do many more ; who would 
not stoop to a mean act ; whose watchword is ‘ Up- 
ward,’ ever upward ; who is as gentle and pure in 
his life as he is brilliant in his profession ; ask me 
to show you such a man and I point, gentlemen, to 
our young friend, Dick Sumner.” 

In these later days, when Dick is needed in the 
Transport office, a telegram quickly reaches him in 
the cottage in which he and his mother live in 
Russellville. He is frequently to be seen in the 
offices of Brounlow & Company, for his second and 
third and fourth books have succeeded as well as the 
first, and he is a man of affairs. Sometimes he is 


298 


THE YOUNG REPOT TEE. 


detained till the last train has left the city, but that 
makes no difference now ; for there is a room 
always ready for him in the big old-fashioned brick 
house on Brooklyn Heights that has been Florrie’s 
home ever since she became Mrs. Harry Darling. 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


i 


TN WILD AFRICA. Adventures of Two Boys in the 

-*■ Sahara Desert , etc. By Col. Thos. W. Knox, author of “ The Boy 

Travelers,” “ The Young Nimrods,” “ A Lost Army,” etc. 325 
pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

The least known part of the Dark Continent is the one described in the new book 
“In Wild Africa.” Central Africa has been traversed by many explorers, until every 
part of it is known, and the larger part of South Africa has entered the domain of civili- 
zation and is equipped with railway and wagon roads. Northern Africa, with the ex- 
ception of a strip two or three hundred miles wide along the coast of the Mediterranean, 
is almost a terra incognita ; its only roads are caravan trails, and comparatively few 
explorers have ventured to brave its inhospitalities. Lake Chad has been known to 
exist for more than ten centuries, but it has been seen by fewer white men than Lake 
Tanganyika and the Victoria Nyanza, both discovered within the past forty years. 

The narrative is replete with adventure and incident, combined with the description 
of the countries traversed and the people who inhabit them. A part of the route has 
been personally traveled by the author, who has thus been enabled to inform himself 
thoroughly concerning the countries he has described. 

No author understands better how to write for young people than Colonel Knox, 
and parents and guardians owe much to him for conveying a vast deal of very useful in- 
formation, geographical and historical, respecting the manners and customs of foreign 
nations. — Boston Commercial Bulletin. 

We can hardly imagine a better way of imparting information to young people. The 
present volume is similar in plan to those which preceded it, and is worthy of the same 
hearty commendation which was accorded them. — Christian Intelligencer , N. V. 



OREMAN JENNIE. A Young Woman of Business. 

By Amos R. Wells, editor of The Golden Rule. 268 pp. Illus- 


trated. Cloth, $1.25. 

Foreman Jennie was a young woman of business; she was also a young woman who 
was an out and out Christian, and nobly strove to live up to her ideals. She was the 
moving spirit in the formation of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society, whose 
struggles form one of the interesting features of the story. It was received most heartily 
when it ran as a serial in The Golden Ride. In its present form it is greatly en- 
larged, containing twice as much matter as originally. It is a splendid story for young 
people, whether they belong to the Christian Endeavor movement or not. 


/Tj UARTERDECK 6- EOK’SLE. By Molly Elliot 

Seawell, author of “ Paul Jones,” “ Midshipman Paulding,” 
“ Little Jarvis,” etc. 272 pp. Illustrated. $1.25. 

Two exceptionally interesting stories of our navy, written for boys, but which will 
be of equal interest to girls, as well as older readers. The first story tells of how a 
young fellow, who hated study and had never been made to go to school, learned the 
lesson of self-control, and by a series of disgraceful failures to pass nis examinations for 
Annapolis, found by experience that the important things of this world are accomplished 
only by the hardest kind of work. The success which came to him afterwards shows 
how thoroughly and well this lesson was learned. The second story deals with a 
famous incident of the English occupation of Newport, R. I., during the Revolutionary 
War, where General Prescott was captured in his own house by a handful of Americans. 
An. important part in this incident was taken by a boy. What he did and how he did it 
is fully told in the story. His service in the young American navy is the natural result 
of his love for the sea and his ardent patriotism. 

The author knows how to tell her stories to captivate the boys, and the character of 
her heroes is such as to elevate and ennoble the reader.— Hartford Evening Post. 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 


2 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


CJ^HE YOUNG REPORTER . A Story of Printing 

House Square. By William Drysdale, author of “Abel 
P'orefinger,” “ In Sunny Lands,” “ Proverbs from Plymouth Pul- 
pit,” etc. 300 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

Every American boy who reads the newspapers is interested in the methods and 
adventures of the reporters who gather news for the great dailies. They go everywhere, 
meet all the prominent people of the time, and are constantly in the front of every- 
thing that is interesting and exciting. 

In “ The Young Reporter ” Mr. William Drysdale has described the adventures of 
a young printer boy with a taste for newspaper work, who became a reporter for one of 
the great New York dailies when he was only eighteen. His introduction to the office 
by taking in an important piece of news, his early experience there, his trials and temp- 
tations, his adventures among the convicts in Sing Sing, his exciting search for the 
stolen body of a millionaire, his voyage to Mexico and the West Indies, his experience 
with bookmakers, who consider a reporter a person to be bribed, are all described to the 
life. 

Every adventure through which Dick Sumner is taken is an actual adventure, — 
something that has really happened. From his first visit to the Transport office till his 
successful production of “The Through Sleeper,” his experiences are as true to life as 
actual truth can make them. It is a book which no boy can read without having his 
ambition stirred and his character strengthened. 

CJ-’HREE COLONIAL BOYS. A Story of the Times 
of ’76. By Everett T. Tomlinson, author of “The Search 
for Andrew Field,” “The Boy Soldiers of 1812,” etc. 368 
pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

We have issued this book as an aid in the solution of that difficult problem, “ What 
shall our young people read ? ” 

It deals with one of the most interesting periods of American history, and em- 
braces many incidents and regions which heretofore have been kept in the background. 

Young people like excitement, as children crave sugar, and, while the book deals 
largely with actual experiences, it furnishes an excitement which is not born of the un- 
natural or impossible. 

It is a story of three boys who were drawn into the events of the times; is patriotic, 
exciting, clean, and healthful, and instructs without appearing to. The heroes are 
manly boys and no objectionable language or character is introduced. The lessons of 
courage and patriotism especially will be appreciated in this day. 

It is handsomely illustrated, printed, and bound, and we are confident will be 
eagerly welcomed by all who are seeking for a book for young people which shall be 
wholesome, interesting, healthfully exciting, and at the same time instructive. 

It is the first of a series, but is complete in itself. 


C AP’N TILLS TLE TOP. By Sophie Swett, author of 

“ Captain Polly,” “ Flying Hill Farm,” “ Mate of the Mary Ann,” 

etc. 266 pp. Illustrated. $1.25. 

Sophie Swett has won a remarkable and deserved popularity for the strong and 
wholesome stories for girls which she has written. In her stories she believes in intro- 
ducing boys, and it is this feature of her work that gives her stories their naturalness and 
much of their interest. In her latest book, “ Cap’ll Thistletop,’’ the principal char- 
acters are a boy and a girl, brother and sister; the girl’s firmness of character 
holds her brother up to his work for making a place for himself in the world. She urges, 
beguiles, and compels, as occasion serves, but still remains the natural, lovable girl, her- 
self, so many thousands of whom are daily making the world brighter and better. 

Margaret E. Sangster says, “ Miss Swett has the knack of telling a story so naturally 
and in so interesting a manner that you cannot put her books down until you are at the 
very end of the last chapter, and then you sigh and wish there was a sequel.” 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


3 



ACK BENSON' S LOG; or, Afloat with the Flag 

in ’6 1. By Chas. Ledyard Norton. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 


Of all the boys who enlisted in the navy at the outbreak of the Civil War, perhaps 
Jack Benson was the luckiest. His guardian, an old sailor, wanted him to enlist; his 
first ship was “ Old Ironsides,” and he helped to save her from an attempted capture by 
the secessionists at Annapolis in 1861. Then he had the good fortune to ship on board 
a fast little steamer that was hurried into commission for blockading purposes and had a 
very pretty little fight off Cape Hatteras, and captured a prize at the very beginning of 
her career. In short, Jack was on hand as a spectator, if not as a participant, at most of 
the notable naval events that took place on the Atlantic coast during the four years 
of the war. 


cr^HE M YSTERIO US VO YA GE OF THE DAPHNE, 

By Lieut. II. P. Whitmarsh, R. N., and others. 305 pp. 

Illustrated. Cloth, $[.25. 

A book of stories for boys and girls by some of the best American authors. Such 
names as Wm. O. Stoddard, Hezekiah Butterworth, James G. Austin, Lieut. H. P. 
Whitmarsh, Marjorie Richardson, and Emma H. Nason will give a fair idea of the 
reputation and the standing of the writers whose stories are included in this book. The 
book is made exceptionally interesting by a large number of illustrations, while the 
quality of the stories cannot be questioned. The book is one that we can recommend 
as entirely safe to put in any girl’s or boy’s hands. 


£ 


LG C YPPESS. By Kirk Munroe, author of “Fur 

Seal’s Tooth,” “Camp-mates,” “Raft-mates,” “Dory-mates,’’ 
“ Canoe-mates,” etc. 164 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00. 

Kirk Munroe’s books always teach something worth knowing. In his last story, 
“ Big Cypress,” the author includes a large amount of information about Florida, its 
coast, the Everglades region, the climate, and the Seminole Indians as they are to-day 
* * * The story is so fascinating that it will hold the absorbed attention of every boy and 
girl reader to the end. — Boston Transcript. 

A bright, wide-awake book as interesting and helpful for girls as for boys. — Golden 
Rule. 


A vivid picture of life among the Seminole Indians of Florida, about whom so little 
is known. — Advance, Chicago. 

A story * * * inculcating manliness and full of incident. — Congregationalist . 



HILIP LEICESTER. 

of “ Freshman and Senior,” 


By Jessie E. Wright, author 

“ Marjoribank,” “ Curly Head,” etc. 


264 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 

The real motive of the story is a lesson for mothers, — that God will be with the 
children of love and prayer, even though they may be passing through the fires of temp- 
tation and bad influence. — The Evangelist , New Yorh. 

The book ought to make any reader thankful for a good home and thoughtful for 
the homeless and neglected. — Golden Rule. 

The idea of the story is happily conceived and skilfully handled. 6. S. Library 
Bulletin. 


There is real merit in the story. — Epworth Herald. 

A charming story for young people. — Young Men's Era. 

The interest of the reader is engaged and never flags until the last page is read. 
Christian Observer. 


BOSTON, W, A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMF 1 ELD ST. 


4 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 



ELOUBET’S SELEC1' NOTES. By F. N. Pelou- 


bet, D. D., and M. A. Peloubet. A Commentary on the Inter- 
national Sunday-School Lessons. Illustrated. 340 pp. Cloth, 

$1.25. 

This commentary is the one book every teacher must have in order to do the best 
work. It interprets the scripture, illustrates the truths, and by striking comments con- 
vinces the mind. 

It is comprehensive, and yet not verbose, and furnishes winnowed material in the 
most attractive and yet convincing form from both spiritual and practical standpoints. 
Accurate colored maps and profuse original illustrations illuminate the text, and create 
an intelligent and instructive view of the subject matter. 

Teachers are invited to send for sample pages of Select Notes. 

It is safe to say that no better help on the International Lessons has ever been 
printed than Select Notes. — Christian at Work. 

We know of no other book that fills the place of Select Notes. — Golden Rule. 

Teachers and scholars have come to regard Select Notes as an essential part of their 
annual Sunday-school outfit. — Cumberland Presbyterian. 

Select Notes has become as much of an institution as the International Lessons. — • 
Advance. 

Select Notes is current everywhere. Among the many books issued as helps to the 
study of the Sunday-school lessons this is the best. — Messiah's Herald. 


A YS 02 * WORKING ; or, Helpful Hints to Sunday - 



r r t School Workers of all Kurds. By Rev. A. F. Schauffler, 
D. D. 212 pp. Cloth, $1.00. 

All the methods of work suggested in the following pages have been tried and ap- 
proved by the author. There is nothing that is merely theoretical. Many things other 
than those alluded to have als<? been tried, and, having proved failures, have been laid 
aside. Nothing but what came through the fire of experience unscathed has been 
dwelt upon. Not all the methods recommended have been originated by the author. 
In fact, the land was ransacked during the time of his actual superintendency for help- 
ful methods, and wherever these were found they were adopted. Sometimes they had 
to be adapted, as well as adopted, and this will probably be the case in manv schools 
who try to take up with some of the forms suggested. But if the suggestions given here 
serve to stimulate others in the line of advance, the aim of the book will have been 
accomplished. — A uthor's Preface. 


CT-'HE GOSPELS COMBINED. Compiled by Rev. 

Charles H. Pope. 208 pp. Cloth, 75c. 


Parallel passages blended, and separate accounts connected; presenting in one con- 
tinuous narrative the life of Jesus Christ as told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. 

This book will be the best help to a clear connected view of the life and words of 
our Lord. Just the thing for every Sunday-school Teacher and Bible Class Student. 



HE BEACON LIGHT SERIES. By Natalie L. 


Rice. Illustrated. Each vol. 96 pp. — 

A collection of bright, attractive stories from the best known writers for young 
people in the Junior and Intermediate classes. The set, 5 vols;', in a box, $2.50. 



OT’S LIBRARY. Edited by Lucy Wheelock. 


Without question the most delightful set of books for little ones. Over 400 
illustrations. The set, 10 vols., in a box, $2.50. 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROM FIELD ST. 



















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